


Nodus Tollens

by FableWhite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mystery, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Deathly Hallows, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, but still slytherins being slytherins, no ron bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FableWhite/pseuds/FableWhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nodus Tollens<br/>noun.<br/>The realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore.</p><p>Something terrible has happened to Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys that leaves Hermione with the daunting task of finding out who did this to them. However, she is not alone in her quest, For Draco Malfoy--former-Death Eater and school bully--as well as his Slytherin housemates lend a hand to the Gryffindor war hero. It is the unlikeliest of team-ups, but as time passes and the clues start to fall into place, Hermione's negative opinions about them begin to shift, particularly the ones she has about a certain platinum-haired blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ephemera

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone!  
> This is the first Dramione story I am actually posting online and not hoarding on my hard drive where it would be doing nothing more than collecting dust. At this point in time, I have five chapters completed and I have begun editing and rearranging some portions that I think need a little tweaking (sometimes writing at midnight can mean sleep-deprived mistakes). I plan to post every Sunday, but we'll see how long the schedule remains that way since Uni just started! I know I can't please everyone, but if I am satisfied with my work then that is all that matters! However, I would still love to hear feedback/input just so I know how I am doing and what I can improve on. I am still learning like everyone else, and hopefully the skills I garner from writing fanfics will aid me in the future. 
> 
> Thank you, and please enjoy:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> e·phem·er·a
> 
> noun
> 
>  things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time.

 

How do you measure the significance of something?

Well, there are numerous ways one could go about it. Take a memory for example, you could look at the intensity of the emotion you felt at that point in time, the exhilaration, anger or sorrow that either pounded at your chest or only slightly banged on its surface. You could rank it by its effect on you as you reminisce about it, the waves of nostalgia hitting you full-force, or barely causing a stir in the vast ocean of your heart. You could base it on its clarity, the sharp pristine colours dancing around in your subconscious as if time had never passed, or the faded edges of the picture that leave a lot of curious blank spots you are unable to fill in. Whatever methods you choose, you are most likely to come up with at least five memorable moments that were in some way significant.

 

Hermione Granger could easily tell you all of them off the top of her head. Her fifth most significant memory is the day she got her Hogwarts letter. Time made the image blurry, but the excitement never disappeared from where it had touched her in her core, for she finally had a place to give her all the answers to the questions that plagued her. Fourth on her list was when she descended the staircase at the Yule Ball, relishing in the attention that was seldom ever placed on her appearance, but the entire school was more than happy to give. She had never felt more beautiful than she did on that day. In third place was the the moment Ron finally kissed her beneath the turmoil ravaging her beloved school, the bones of the basilisk their only witness. It was as if a heavy weight had lifted off her shoulders, one she had been carrying for years and tingles would pleasantly travel up her spine as she thought about it months later. The next one had occurred rather recently in fact, and it was the instant she caught a girl moaning in her bed, her fiancé under the covers and unaware of the hexes flying his way.

 

And the final one was happening right now, in all its perfect clarity, intensity, and emotion.

 

Her world was falling apart, and she had no means of piecing it back together. People she loved, people she would have _died for_ screamed bitter words that lashed against the very seams that held her together. It was a brutal onslaught filled with accusatory fingers, seething tones and expressions of utter contempt. It was like she was watching a film, the circumstances affecting only actors, the silver screen a flat foreseeable reality that could not touch her in any way, shape or form. But it did, and it _burned,_ ripping holes in all the flimsy defenses she attempted to build after the war. She would cry herself to sleep at the thought of her friends abandoning her, hating her, or blaming her, nightmares often prematurely waking her and leaving anxieties in her stomach. It was always Ron who would assure her that it was just a dream, his hands rubbing her back.

But right now her worst fears were being realized, not embodied by the shapeless figures of boggarts in Professor Lupin’s class but by reality itself, appearing as reapers from a hellish realm sent to make her pay for what she thought were nonexistent sins.

 

They blamed her.

They hated her.

_They were abandoning her._

 

She was a witch without a wand, a filthy mudblood once again, her will to live in a battle-marred world depleting with every brainwashed truth they proclaimed. It was so clear, the pores on their faces, the red wind-stained flesh of their cheeks, the black pools of their eyes.  Air barely made it past her windpipe, the struggle to breathe became a very apparent threat as panic set in. She was going to choke, the saliva would collect on her tongue and dribble past her lips to mingle with frosted earth and they would probably turn on their heels and leave, thinking her life wasn’t worth it anymore. There was a brittleness to her bones as the cold seeped in, seizing the muscles in her face and locking them into an expression of utter despair. She wanted to vomit or pass out or both, she wasn’t sure but she needed to say something, make her case to convince her family of her innocence---or she may lose them forever.

 

But no words would come, they stubbornly committed suicide on her vocal chords and left her naked and powerless against the crowd of hecklers in front of her. She had to get away, escape this twisted, nonsensical Lewis Carroll story and back to the safety of the one she had known since she was eleven. But that was never going to happen.Without thinking and with blurry vision she apparated away from the Burrow, the haven that now felt like a torture chamber, and collapsed on her bedroom floor.

 

She grieved, dry heaving with a ferocity that made her head pound and muscles ache. Her eyes seeped molten lava down her face, creating trails she thought might never fade. They were her battle wounds and they would fester until her whole body was infected with the absolute soul-wrenching anguish that had overtaken her. She had to forget, but what had transpired only replayed itself like a broken record on her subconscious, pressing down where it hurt.  She needed to get drunk.

 

 _The Three Broomsticks_ was moderately full when she arrived, late-late into the evening. listening to the idle chatter distracted her some, but she still had to hold in fresh tears that threatened to spill. No one had paid her any mind, which she was grateful for and she headed straight for the bar, debating whether or not she should remove her hood. The dim light of the pub would definitely hide any evidence of her tears, but she really did not want to risk anyone recognizing her at the moment.

 

“What can I get for ya, miss?” An elderly bartender greeted her, white beard nearly matching the shade of his apron.

 

She cleared her throat of phlegm before talking. “Firewhiskey please...make it strong.”

 

He raised a brow, but nodded at her request. Looking around, Hermione tried to take in the familiar surroundings, trying not to think about the amounts of Butterbeer she shared here with two particular people, lest she make a scene. Loud laughter broke above the indecipherable drone of noises, and she found herself drawn to the table on her far left. She wished she hadn’t looked. The table was packed with Slytherins from her year, including some very notable figures. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott,Gregory Goyle and Draco Malfoy were engaging in conversation not too far from where she sat.

“Of all people to be here tonight…” she muttered to herself.

 

As if hearing her words--which was in fact, impossible-- Malfoy glanced up from his glass and straight at Hermione who was still clad in her cloak. Their eyes met for only a second before she broke contact, pulling the hood further over her head and turning her back towards him. He gave a puzzled look before returning to his conversation.

 

“Here ya go, miss.” The bartender smiled, before returning to polishing his glasses.

 

She nodded, and downed the firewhiskey as if it was merely sweet pumpkin juice, relishing in the trails of fire it created as it poured down her throat. She bit back a cough, holding in a breath that brought new, less meaningful tears to her eyes.

 

A buzz numbed her petulant brain, stunning her frontal lobe into submission and rushing through the stem of her cerebellum. She savored the sensation, letting it possess her as she teetered on the edge of an emotional abyss.

 

_Don’t think about it._

 

She took another big swig, drawing a few glances from other patrons who witnessed this strange slight girl down heavy alcohol in a way that would take even the sturdiest of half-giants out of commission. She didn’t heed them any mind, however, too caught up in her own effective (albeit reckless) pain remedy to really notice her surroundings.

 

 **_Don’t_ ** _think about it._

The logical part of her that had remained dormant throughout her entire...ordeal found its voice and was beginning to send warning signals to her increasingly hazy senses. She promptly ignored them, her blurred vision making the world appear as if it was covered in gossamer cloth before she hastily ordered another firewhiskey from the bartender. Again, he raised a snowy eyebrow, but again, obliged her request.

 

She kept her head down, the rowdiness of the bar grating on her sensitive eardrums. Despite the sick feeling growing in her stomach, she managed to empty her second glass of firewhiskey in minutes.

 

**_Don’t think about it!_ **

 

The world started to spin after that, a testament to her lightweight status and a million thoughts tried to push through the barrier she had created on her membrane. Mainly she subconsciously wondered how she was going to get home, how she would make it to work on time, how a pair of breasts and long legs manage to wrap tighter around her fiancé’s waist then she around his heart, how black eyes could shine so cruelly and how she ended up in this situation.

 

All those thoughts had been quieted by the alcohol, but she could still faintly hear the cries as if they were simply bound and gagged in a locked room but still screaming to get her attention. She tried to heed them no mind. It didn’t work.

 

The worst part was that she had no one to turn to. Her best _friend,_ a man she sometimes felt closer to than her own fianc é had looked at her as if she was the second coming of the dark lord, as if she was a miserable stain on his otherwise perfect world and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. Ron was the one at fault, not _her,_ and she thought he would understand that. She was being blamed for not being able to keep Ron faithful, for being--as Harry put it-- “so astronomically boring that you literally drove your fiancé into another’s arms. You ruined everything.”

Those words had choked her, squeezing all the air out of her lungs until she was sure they had blackened and shrivelled inside her chest cavity. Hermione Granger had known all her life that she wasn’t, per say, a particularly “fun” person. Sure, she would go to quidditch games when invited, and she was no stranger to the clubs littered throughout muggle London that she sometimes took Ginny to, but she would rather curl up with a good book and a pot of tea than brave the outside world to indulge in any of those aforementioned activities. She wasn’t adventurous, not in the same way she once was as a brave eleven-year-old who had slipped into the bowels of Hogwarts like it was all just a big game of wizard chess and not the beginnings of a war. She preferred comfort over glamour, routine over risk, and order over chaos. Perhaps she had fallen into this safety net after her she had lived inside a tent for a year, not knowing if the next day would be her last, but by abiding by her set boundaries it allowed the constant paranoia and emotional instability to relax ever so slightly and not cause her to break down every second of every day.

 

Either way, she had accepted long ago that she would never fall in the same category as those girls that ended up on the cover of _Witch Weekly,_ arm and arm with a different beau each week and adorned in jewels worth more than her entire wardrobe. _She_ had accepted that, and she had thought that her friends had accepted that as well, valuing her friendship for what it was, not a fever dream of what they thought it could be.

 

She gripped the warm glass of whiskey, watching as the amber liquid swirled around the bottom in a miniature cyclone that she wished would swallow her whole. Maybe then everything wouldn’t hurt, the chemicals seeping into her skin, drowning her soul in a haze where pain could not penetrate her ever again.

The rational part of her that was still somehow functioning understood that it would be unwise to refill the glass again, no matter how much she wanted to just pass out on the bar stool and wake up in the new year. So it was with great resignation that she attempted to haul her lethargic, aching body away from the bar. She threw a few sickles and knuts on the counter and unwound herself from the aged wood beneath her. The elderly bartender peered over from where he was serving a plump gentleman with worry etched into his already wrinkled skin. The other man whose belly pressed up against the oak of the bar glanced at her as well, stroking his beard absently. She eyed what appeared to be a rabbit’s foot hanging from his stretched robes.

It intrigued her, this clump of fur that swung like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, as if signifying that something was...impending. A countdown to fate inevitably opening its doors and trapping her in its endless hallways with no hope of escape.  It also managed to distract her, and that’s how she ended up tripping over the leg of the chair and falling backwards. She flinched, feeling the impact before it actually occurred, muscles seizing up into tight coils to brace against the hard stone beneath. She closed her eyes, letting gravity take her in that moment as she had no energy or means to save herself, in the same way she had no means of mending the ripped tapestry of her existence at the current moment, instead letting the frayed fabric flap in a directionless wind.

She was alone, alone in this world she and so many others fought--died--to protect.

What had happened to all those stone warriors at Hogwarts anyway? Did they crumble after the battle had been won, after fulfilling their one true purpose? They had probably shattered into millions of pieces, discarded like the bodies that littered the ashen ground. Tools. They shattered like she would now against the dirty bar floor.

 

Except instead of colliding with the cold, her body was enveloped in warmth and the faint smell of smoked wood.

 

“Merlin, Granger! Do you have a death wish?”

  
  


* * *

 

Cold. It was always so damn cold.

Draco rubbed the palms of his hands together, the nerves prickly as blood flowed back into his crystallized veins. He was seated at a table in _The Three Broomsticks_ , an establishment he had been frequenting since his sixth year. After slowly--painstakingly so---winning himself back into Madam Rosmerta’s good graces, it had become the ideal place for he and his former housemates to talk and catch up without the fear of prying eyes. Oh, the war may be over but they were still branded, branded by something that went further than skin deep, It was _soul-deep_ , rooting itself so far within that it fed off one’s essence like a parasite.  He rubbed absentmindedly at his left forearm.

Time had not been kind to those on the losing side of the war-- even for those that weren’t directly involved. Hell, half the people around this table hadn’t even raised their wands in _his name_ ,  none of them had taken the oath that enslaved them to a madman with a psychotic agenda and they were still scorned as if they had pitched Dumbledore off the astronomy tower themselves.

 

 _No, that was me._ He thought darkly. _Well, practically._ He sighed, alabaster fingers tapping against a half-full glass of firewhiskey.

 

Blaise shot him a glance from where he was seated at the far edge of the table, his hand lifting his cup to his dark lips. A silent question was passed between them and Draco brushed him off. He worried far too much these days about insignificant things. The sleek Slytherin was under the impression that his pale counterpart was “suffering”, attempting to not-so-subtly coax Draco to reveal his most anguished of secrets. The only problem with his friend’s concern was that it was misplaced, an illusion of his mind that was more fitting of an Elizabethan tale than reality.  He was not some broken man, wallowing in the pits of his own hell as punishment for the grievous faults of his past. No, he thought not. Sure the existence he had lead up until the war had been nothing but a lie, a tale spun by a most awful arachnid of manipulation, but it hadn’t come as a complete shock to him as many think. Perhaps deep down he always knew that wool had covered his eyes and ensnared his rationality with smoke and mirrors so he could not truly look _beyond_ what he immediately understood. Despite the revelations, his stubborn heart chose to ignore what his head knew was undeniable. It had not been an easy few years, but he was learning to fight against his built-in reflexes when it came to wizards and witches of the muggle variety. The urge to turn up his nose had diminished, but sometimes old habits died hard.

A particularly loud laugh broke him out of his brooding. Theo was clutching his sides and falling over himself, unable to contain his howls. Draco almost envied how easily joy came to his friend. He was the only one out of their little posse to maintain his sense of humour, laugh lines always crinkling his eyes. These days the young Malfoy heir found that nothing was funny, his mind so lost in thought that he needed a drink to actually think _clearly_. He was aware of the oxymoron, but the constant turmoil that was his subconscious needed the intoxication.  

There were too many obstacles clouding his judgement, two of them happened to be his parents. The old Malfoys had become somewhat reclusive these days, electing to stay shunned away from wizardkind inside a manor that once housed evil itself. The war changed them, shook them more than he thought possible. His father barely spoke a word and his mother was in hysterics every other night, constantly shaking and wringing her hands in anxiety. It pained him to see them in such pitiful states, the pride that had once emitted from their entire beings was gone, and in its place were penumbras of what they used to be. Half-shadows.

When he is not thinking of his burdensome family, he thinks of the past. It comes back to him in droves, little snippets of a time that seemed so long ago, but at the same time feels only like yesterday.

The most prominent ones come from the day Harry Potter landed on his doorstep, face hexed and swollen, but anyone who had studied him as much as Draco had would recognize him instantly. He can see it clearly--the desperation in the other’s eyes but at the same time there was still a pompous defiance, most likely elements of that idiotic Gryffindor bravery shining through. Something had passed through them then, grey met green, fire met ice, and dark met light. It was short-lived, but he wondered if they could have been friends, had things gone different. He could have said it. Could’ve told his banshee of an aunt the truth. He hadn’t, and honestly he was quite grateful for it. Harry had thanked him silently, and repaid the favour by _not_ sending him to Azkaban.

 

He remembers Granger. She had looked so small, the drawing room swallowing her up as if it were alive. He never thought his ceiling had looked so high before she had been laid on the floor beneath it. Those screams still pierce his eardrums, the soundtrack to his nightmares. Her blood, so rich, so _red,_ spilling on the hardwood his mother had once kept pristine. That word--the one that now branded her like him-- he hadn’t uttered it since. He recalls his cowardice with painful clarity, eyes aghast in horror, as if he hadn’t seen death before. He hadn’t the stomach for it, the torture...at least death was quick.

 

It’s strange how a few short moments can shape you more than years’ worth of conditioning. He would bark no more, so fuck off Pavlov.

“Oi, Draco, have you been listening at all?”

He glared at Pansy in front of him, her sharp eyes focused on him, lips pressed in an unamused line.

“Perhaps if you didn’t constantly drone on about mindless things I wouldn’t tune you out all the time.” He jibed, tilting his head back as he downed the rest of his firewhiskey. One could not be sober around Pansy Parkinson for more than a couple of hours.

 

She raised an eyebrow, dismissing his comment completely, “Who pissed in _your_ pumpkin juice?”

He rolled his eyes, turning his attention to Goyle and Theo who were snickering incessantly.

“I have been drinking something a lot stronger than pumpkin juice these days, Pans,” He admitted with a drawl.

“I can see that,” she eyed his empty cup, before looking up at him. The relax in her eyebrow cued him to what was coming next. “ ...Your parents are still refusing to leave the manor?” it was more a statement than a question.

 

Blaise’s attention was piqued at her inquiry, his fingernails forgotten as they started digging into the wood. He didn’t meet their gazes, instead looking down at the scratches in the table. The two friends glanced at each other. This was all the confirmation that they needed.

“Look, if there is anything we can do to help--”

“Save it Pans, if I can’t persuade them then that’s it. You know how they are.” He tried not to let his frustration show.

 

Theo let out a sharp chortle at the other end of the table and it took Draco every ounce of willpower to not throttle him. Keeping a low-profile was key for people in their predicament, and if he continued to giggle like a damned cornish pixie every five seconds who knows what kind of trouble they could attract.  He sighed into his glass.

 

He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them when something caught his eye. There was a little mass of white hanging from the robes of one of the largest men he had ever seen. He squinted and upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a rabbit’s foot. What an odd trinket, barbaric really. For some reason he thought of how Granger would disapprove. His attention then fell to a hooded figure a few stools down who had spotted him. He could see nothing but the outline of her lips and a few locks of unruly hair sticking out of her hood. She turned away quickly, out of embarrassment or fear he was not sure. It was nothing he wasn’t used to.

“Can you two lugheads shut up or do you want the whole damn bar to know we are here?” Draco bit out, startling the two out of their amusement.

Theo threw his hands up defensively. “Hey mate, just tryin’ to have a bit of fun. _Relax._ Why do you got to be a downer all the time?”

Draco huffed. Sometimes Theo lived in a fantasy land. How could someone be so brilliant and so thick at the same time, it was a mystery that not even Merlin could solve.

Pansy butt in before he could respond. “Are you kidding me, Theo?” The dangerous look in her eyes scared him more than her scornful words.

He had the decency to look a little ashamed, scratching the back of his head before slumping back into his chair.

 

The table had grown quiet, something that occurred frequently. The war had made people more introspective he presumed. Existential crises were not uncommon amongst Death Eater children and neither were long nights of self-loathing and heavy drinking. It was a miracle any of them left the house really, but he guessed the saying was true. Misery _does_ in fact love company.

 

He needed a distraction, so he heaved his body out of the rickety chair and towards the bar. Madam Rosmerta often avoided their table like the plague anyways, eyeing them suspiciously from afar when she thought they didn’t notice. He couldn’t blame her.

The rabbit’s foot swayed from the rounded fellow’s ample robes. He thought of pocket watches and tea parties with mad men. _He will never make it to tea now with one foot._

He was mistaken, he did have some humour left, but it was only of the macabre variety.

There was a screech as a bar stool scraped with the momentum of a sluggish but forceful push. It was the witch from earlier, her body slumped over and heavy with intoxication.  She turned in his direction for only a second, but it was enough. Her sleeve had been pushed up above the elbow, revealing the faded lines of an unmistakable scar. It was _her,_ the star of his many nightmares. He heard her screams inside his head, but his answering ones would reverberate off the walls of the manor. It must have been a comforting and familiar sound.

 

She wasn’t stable, he deduced quickly, and in less than  ten seconds she would fall. The question was, would he actually _catch_ her this time?

She had begged, and cried and screeched her way through the curses and the relentless onslaught and it had burned itself into his retinas so clearly that it became the negative image against his life.

Nine.

She was there, not a projection of his mangled psyche, but flesh and _blood._ Why was she here, alone in the middle of the night? Her kin did not slink out of the shadows like his. The hood meant she was hiding and he thought it peculiar. Surely a war hero would have no need to hide themselves from the public’s ever-watchful eye.

 

Six.

 

So many times he had thought of what to say to her if he got the chance to be close enough to her that they breathed the same air, and not with her bodyguards--The Chosen One and _her chosen one--_ hovering over her like she was some delicate artefact. The only problem was, nothing ever seemed like the right thing to say. They never discussed what the proper etiquette for apologizing about war crimes entailed during his school days. Perhaps they should start.

 

Three.

She was tripping. He had seen her do this before, but generally it was because _he_ had been the one doing the tripping. _“Look at the clumsy mudblood! Look at her disgusting mane! Her ugly mug makes me sick!”_ They all had laughed but they didn't foresee that she would be laughing in the end. She didn’t appear to be laughing now though. Her body followed the momentum of gravity and for a second he thought she wanted it to happen this way, to crack her head against the stone, unspool her abundant membrane for all to see.

Two.

Now he was walking, quickly, glass be damned.

One.

And Draco Malfoy catches the golden snitch, 150 points and the game is over. Slytherin wins. There was no cheers from the audience in this victory, just pointed looks, confused glances and annoyed glares.

She felt warm against his chest, a lone flame flickering within a lonely manor. The scent of firewhiskey was strong, tingling his nostrils ever so slightly. It wasn’t a scent he expected to emit from her, parchment and dust seemed more likely. There was tension coursing through her entire body, her skeleton as stiff as board even as she crumbled against him.

He couldn't help but say what he had been thinking.

“Merlin, Granger! Do you have a death wish?”

Her eyes had been clenched shut, but the sound of his voice made one eyelid lift sluggishly in confusion. She _really_ could not hold her liquor.

He hadn’t been this close to her since...well, ever really, unless you count the one time she sucker-punched him in third year, which he by all accounts did not. Her massive mop of curls spilled out of her fallen hood and enshrouded her in a lion’s mane, but they did little to hide reason behind her drunken escapade. The tears were both fresh and dried,staining her skin red and rimming her eyes with swollen tissue. She was upset and he could bet his entire sizable fortune that it had something to do with a Potter or a Weasley. Maybe both, he thought, on the account that she was at a run-down tavern instead of in the arms of one of her precious Gryffindors.

“Wha--is that--is that _you_ ferret?” her words came in a slurred rush but he was able to decipher it well enough. So well in fact he was very close to dropping her for that infernal nickname.

“Nice to see _you_ haven’t changed.” He growled, still supporting the brunt of her weight.

The entire Slytherin table froze, gobsmacked by a sight they never thought they would live to see. The Slytherin prince had caught the Gryffindor princess. Theo--for once--was not laughing, and neither was the rest of the bar, intrigued and confused by what had happened.

She didn’t respond to Malfoy’s comment, instead her eyes rolled back as she passed out in his arms, falling like an anchor against his side. He had just enough time to wrap his arms tightly around her midsection to keep her from smashing into the bar floor.

 

“What the hell Draco?! You can’t just go grabbing war heroines whenever you like!” Pansy whispered seethingly, having marched over to the blonde the instant Granger had blacked out.

He quirked an eyebrow at her reprimanding tone. “What? You would rather I let her hit the bloody floor than?”

Pansy rolled her dark green eyes. “Of course not but what will the press say when they found out Hermione bloody Granger was passed out in the arms of a former Death Eater? No matter the circumstances they will think you had _something_ to do with it.”

He dared a look around the bar, though many patrons were minding their own business there were a few horrified expressions of some who would probably alert _The Prophet_ of what they saw the minute he left. This would not bode well for the progress he was slowly but surely making in order to win back the public.

He turned back to Pansy. “How the hell was I supposed to know it was freaking Granger of all people! I saw a girl falling, I elected to do the right thing and stop her from doing so.” He was lying through his teeth and he knew it, he just hoped Pansy wouldn’t notice.

She was unconvinced but let it slide simply because they had bigger issues to deal with now, one that involved the girl sleeping--uncaringly--in Draco’s arms. She was so oblivious and trusting, how she had managed to survive up until this point was a mystery to the raven-haired pureblood.

“You have to take her home, there are way too many people here that someone will start causing problems.”

“Home? I don’t know where she lives.”

“Not her home, the manor obviously.”

“The manor!?”

“You can’t just go barging into a lady’s house, the polite thing to do is take her to _your home.”_ Had the woman lost her mind?

He gave a snort, one that would sound undignified had it been anyone else, but Draco still managed to make it sound as aristocratic as his drawl. “Oh? And how will _that_ look to anyone on the outside? They’ll think I am bloody _kidnapping_ her or something.”

She couldn’t argue with him there, but they had no choice at this point, the longer they stayed here…

 

“We’ll have to trust that she will defend us if _The Daily Prophet_ questions her, I imagine that will only happen if you behave yourself.” It was a statement but he could hear the underlying warning in her words. _Don’t fuck this up._

 

He sighed, relenting to Pansy’s ludicrous idea only because they didn’t have a better one at the moment. He could always just leave her there but Merlin knows what would happen to her then. She would only end up hurting herself more in her drunken state.

 

“Fine, but I hope you know you are putting _a lot_ of trust in people who owe us nothing.” He gave her a steely gaze, ensuring she understood the risk they were taking. This could ruin everything.

 

Pansy stared back with equal strength and nodded. “I know.” her voice revealing the truth of their reality.

 

Gripping Granger so that she was pressed firmly against his chest, he readied himself for the side-along he never imagined he would have to do. He looked back towards where his friends were sitting, they all seemed equally perturbed and unsure of what the future would hold. He glanced at Blaise who nodded at him. _We’ll get through this._ His honey eyes seemed to say.

 

Without a second more, they were off.


	2. Ingénue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Sundays are still a go, it seems. If you have any constructive criticisms I am open to hearing what you have to say so I can improve.  
> This chapter is a bit more comedic than the last one, but it will continue to have its more dramatic and darker moments. Either way, it's all in good fun! It's fanfiction everyone, don't take it seriously;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in·gé·nue
> 
> noun
> 
> an innocent or unsophisticated young woman.  
> a part of an ingénue in a play.

Grey.

 

She remembers the colour so distinctly when she awakens with the world’s worst hangover. Her brain is pounding against her skull, so much so that the pressure causes tears to form at the corners of her eyes and remain still, as if frozen on the rims. She wasn’t aware she had any tears left, the depths of her anguish so deep that water could no longer make it to the surface, dried up at the bottom of an abandoned well. 

 

But the colour grey, it signified  _ something _ otherwise she wouldn’t have remembered it, but the only problem was she couldn’t figure out what. 

 

She could barely move, body lethargic as it sunk into a mattress she never remembered feeling this good. The sweat that clung to the heavy clothing she was still dressed in made her squirm however, and it was with great reluctance that she tried to pull herself into a seated position. The silken sheets slipped off her torso as she slowly dragged her sore muscles up against gravity. She yawned, trying to stretch her heavy arms over her head and rolled her shoulders to remove the stiffness in them. Finally, she attempted to unstick her eyelids from where they felt like they

were glued shut, wincing as she felt the sting of light entering her irises. It was blinding, the sun ambushing her through the window and she wished she could just crawl back under her sheets. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear them of any remaining drowsiness, and then rubbed them again and again.

 

_ What the hell-- _

 

She looked down at the sheets the _ very black  _ and very much not  _ her _ silk sheets, no. Hers were ratty and cotton and had become rough over the years whereas these felt brand new and entirely too indulgent. 

 

She started breathing heavily, eyebrows drawn together as she studied her very unfamiliar surroundings. Everything was a rich black mahogany and the walls were baronial in design, full of intricate crown moldings and opulent carvings that seemed to extend forever; the ceiling was exceptionally high. She would have been impressed had she not been so terrified.

 

She scrambled off the four-poster bed, its monstrous size making that a much more difficult feat to achieve than she originally thought. The sheets clung to her legs and she nearly tripped onto the mauve rug, a Baroque-looking piece that made her reluctant to stand on it. She spotted her boots beside the divan in the middle of the massive space, and she wondered how the hell she got here, though there was something oddly familiar about the space, like something she once saw in a dream.. She had been drunk, that much was certain, but she drew a blank every time she attempted to recall the night before, It was as if a huge chunk of her memories had been  _ obliviated _ and she silently hoped that whoever--or  _ whatever _ had brought her here, hadn’t done just that. 

 

She was beginning to panic. She struggled to put her boots back on her feet and located her cloak hanging off a large chest that was set down at the foot of the bed. Now all she needed was her wand. She searched, hoped, _ prayed _ that her captor had left her wand with her, though the chances of that happening were very slim.

 

She needed to get out of here, _ now.  _

 

She made a beeline to the door, but trying to maintain her balance whilst severely hungover was proving to be difficult. She leaned against the divan, the rich plum velvet tickling the undersides of her fingernails where she dug them into the material in order steady herself. 

 

_ Breathe in, breathe out. Come on, you’ve endured worse than this.  _ She reprimanded herself, frustrated that her body seemed to be working against her.

 

Just as she felt it was safe enough to move again, she heard the unmistakable sound of the knob turning. She froze in horror, not wanting to know what monster stood on the other side. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something, _ anything _ to ward off whoever was coming to get her. 

 

There was a silver fire iron hanging next to a hook on the mantle of a large fireplace on the left side of the room. She bit her lip, but then made a dash for it hoping she had enough time to arm herself before her captor came in. 

 

Whoever they were seemed to be biding their time, giving her ample opportunity to grab the weapon and hide herself behind the door so she could ambush them. The element of surprise was always a good battle tactic. 

 

_ Just like the old days, _ she thought glumly. 

 

The door opened ever so slowly, a loud creaking noise emitted from the ancient hinges and reverberated around the room. The footsteps were unhurried and measured, as if the person had an abundance of confidence that they could handle Hermione in whatever state she was in. It irked her to no end. She gripped the fire iron tighter.

 

She had to wait, she would not be able to knock them out if the timing wasn’t perfect. She had learned more than just wand defense in the war, hand-to-hand combat became vital in the instance a witch found herself without a wand, and Hermione wanted to be prepared for anything.

 

The footsteps stopped, probably wondering why there was no longer a sleeping body in the bed. She widened her stance, getting her arms ready to swing just like those beaters in quidditch.It was almost textbook-accurate, her body twisted to allow for as much speed and strength behind her swing. If she hadn’t been so afraid of flying, perhaps she would have been a good beater, maybe even given Fred and George a run for their money. 

 

She heard a huff, before the person started taking cautious steps towards the bed.

 

_ Come on, I can almost see you you bastard. _

 

He was still hidden by the door, but if he took three more steps she would be able to see him.

 

_ Come on… _

Her fingers were sweating where they gripped onto the metal but she couldn’t move yet, that would only giver her away. She steadied her breathing, trying not to squeak in fear of whoever this was, instead hardening her resolve and ensuring her survival.

 

**_Come on_ ** **!**

 

They crossed the threshold and began to move quickly to the bed, It was Hermione’s time to strike.

 

She hurtled towards them, a maddening glint in her eye and raised her arms behind her head, the fire iron in a javelin-like position. She yelled out, a warrior she was once again and poised the weapon at his head. 

 

The man turned around in surprise and toppled over the divan, his arms coming out to defend himself against the fearsome witch heading straight for him. She continued on course, seeing nothing but red in her vision. He was her target and she would take him out.

 

“G-Granger! No! Stop! It’s me!” He exclaimed, flinching at the spear she was lifting in a position that would definitely be a fatal blow.

 

She was jostled out of her berserker state, eyes widening to the size of saucer plates as she recognized the man in front of her. No one had hair like that but--

 

“Mal-- _ Malfoy _ ?!” She gasped, her hands coming to her mouth but she hadn’t realized that her weapon had still been in her grasp. 

 

_ Thwack! _

 

Malfoy saw stars, the fire iron landing---of all places---on his groin.

  
  


-

 

They were sitting on the divan, Malfoy gingerly placing his hands on top of the ice pack he had conjured with his wand. They were glaring at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to break the silence. There was a cool breeze entering the room from the magnificent floor-to ceiling windows she had opened up. Plum and lilac curtains started to dance with the wind, flowing like the bottom of a noble-woman's evening gown. The setting was romantic but the atmosphere was anything but. 

 

They continued to glare.

 

Draco--reluctantly--was the first to talk.

 

“You know, a thank you  _ would _ be nice.” He drawled, though it wasn’t as elegant as usual, considering he couldn’t stop wincing in agony. 

 

Hermione gritted her teeth, fingers itching for her wand. “And why in the name of Merlin would I be thanking the likes of  _ you _ ?” she bit out. 

 

“I saved your life.”

 

“No, you took me to your manor without my consent and for all I know it was so you could--”

 

“Take advantage of you?” He finished, letting out a disbelieving chuckle. “Oh please, do you really think I would that--”

 

“Why, because I am just some _ filthy little mudblood _ right?” She threw back in his face, determined to not let him get to her.

 

He pursed his lips, eyes becoming intense and staring a hole into her head that made her want to squirm away from him. Memories from second year floated up from the back of her mind, ones of those same steel irises following her as she passed by him in the Hogwarts corridors. Something was off about his eyes now however; the usual fire seemed to be dimmed to a muted indecipherable emotion, as if that part of him had died. War did that to people, it destroyed even the most prominent parts of them till ashes are the only mementos left. 

 

Her musings were halted when he tore his gaze away, looking at his hands with a harsh, tight-lipped grin. There was nothing humorous about it.

 

“Well I was thinking more along the lines of ‘do you really think that i would take advantage of someone while they are clearly inebriated’ but sure, let’s go with what you said because you know me  _ oh so well. _ ”  He sneered, hating how she assumed she was right all the time.

 

Hermione huffed indignantly and then pointed an accusatory finger at him. “ _ You _ don’t get to victimize yourself because if you don’t remember,” She pushed her finger into his chest, “ _ I’m  _ the one held captive in your home! Again!” her hands flew up in exasperation for her situation. 

 

Draco rolled his eyes at her overreaction. She could be so dramatic sometimes. “Oh please, no one’s holding you captive, least of all me. Aurors show up here the minute a fucking kitty is stuck in a tree thinking my family has something to do with it, do you  _ really _ think I would risk my freedom just to hold the most recognizable war heroine of all time in my home? And do tell me, what is this  _ big evil plan  _ of mine Granger, huh?” He crossed his arms, intrigued to hear what exactly she thought he was gonna do to her.

 

She bit her lip in frustration, brows furrowing as she thought more and more about it. It was a ridiculous notion to believe he would do something, but it wasn’t her fault his reputation preceded him. 

 

“Well...where is my wand then?” She countered weakly.

 

“I didn’t want to get my bits hexed off the minute you woke up so I took some precautions. I did not foresee however, how absolutely mental you are and that any item can become a murder weapon in your hands.” He groaned, shifting the ice pack against his trousers. 

 

She supposed his argument was...logical. Given their history, it wasn’t unlikely that she would hex first, ask questions later but did he really need to scare her like that?

 

“Where the hell were you anyway? You leave me alone in a scary bed in a scary room and don’t have the decency to tell my why I am here?” Her arguments were getting weaker and weaker and they both knew it. She could almost feel his smugness from across the space between them. 

 

He leaned over to her as much as he was able to and whispered close to her face.

 

“Why Granger? Did you  _ want _ me to watch over you as you slept?” He raised his eyebrows and she could hear the tease in his voice.

 

She promptly moved away from him, trying to not shudder from his face being so close to hers. Those eyes again remained piercing and invasive. She remembered them cruel and unkind.

 

Kind of how Ron’s looked. And Harry’s. And Ginny’s. 

 

She shook the thoughts out of her head and tried to focus her attention on Malfoy.  _ That _ was something she never thought she’d willingly do. 

 

“As if.” She gave him a disgusted look, but it only made him smirk.

 

“Sure Granger. But as it so happens, I had been waiting for you to wake up but you sleep like the dead--” She glared at him, “--So I went to get you a hangover potion. You  _ do  _ want to remember what happened last night don’t you?” 

 

“I don’t know,  _ do _ I?” She questioned in an accusing tone. She would die before she let him win their verbal jest.

 

Draco groaned in frustration “Oh for fuck’s sake Granger, I know you feel you have the right to act all high and mighty but would you give it a rest? I wasn’t the one completely smashed at a bar last night all alone and without any regard for their safety ok? You were in trouble, you almost fell off a goddamn stool so I took you home so that you wouldn’t fucking kill yourself alright? Why is that so hard to believe?”

 

“Because it’s you! Why in the name of Merlin would you or any one of your kin do something like that? I can’t even fathom--”

 

“Because it was the right thing to do!” 

 

“And when have you  _ ever _ done the right thing!?”

 

Draco was livid, his eyes freezing as they seethed with such strong disdain that it made her jump a little. It scared her that he was able to transform into the same old monster with the flip of a switch.

 

There was an uncomfortable silence as a lightening storm rolled in from the clouds of Draco’s eyes. He was going to explode any minute and she wasn’t sure she was prepared for that to happen, not without a wand in her hands. She was about to get off the couch, and try to discreetly amble towards the fire iron when he spoke. 

 

“You don’t know me Granger. You don’t know the things I have done.” His tone was deceptively calm, but she could feel his anger as it slithered inside his words.

 

She turned to face him bravely.

 

“No, but I have a--”

 

“Drink it.”

 

The hangover potion was sitting on the end table beside the divan, if she drank it, she would see what really happened yesterday. She was beginning to feel unsure of herself.

 

“But I--” 

 

“ _ Drink  _ it.” He repeated, his intonation the only thing getting more severe. 

 

She eyed it suspiciously and he rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to poison you, I would have done it in your sleep.” He stated, reading her thoughts.

 

She pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, she couldn’t logically think of a way to decline a hangover potion. If she wanted to really know what happened this was her only solution.

 

She opened the vial carefully, unable to stop herself from smelling the liquid inside. Malfoy laughed incredulously beside her. Perhaps she was being ridiculous, but the war had left her in a constant state of paranoia that she was unable to break out of. It was the reason why she couldn’t walk a few blocks without looking over her shoulder, or censoring thoughts in her head just in case someone was listening or always keeping her little charmed bag packed with that stupid tent and all the essentials in case she had to go on the run again.

 

She couldn’t help it, and Ron had often chastised her for it, saying there was nothing to worry about, they were all safe, they were all  _ happy.  _ Her heart clenched at the thought.

 

She tipped the vial back and downed its contents in one fell swoop. There was a rush as the bitter liquid slid down her throat and into her brain stem. Her head swirled as memories of the previous night flowed behind her eyelids.

* * *

 

She saw the bar,  _ The Three Broomsticks  _ floating past her vision. It had been late, the place crowded, a table of Slytherins in the far corner. She had drunk firewhiskey, two full glasses of it, on an empty stomach in the span of less than an hour. No wonder she was paying for it severely now. She remembered the hurt, how her eyes had welled up again even after hours of crying because her loved ones had cast her out of their lives, killing a part of her as they did it. The alcohol had felt _ so good _ , it had numbed the pain of the past, till it was nothing but a blur. But it was late and she was alone and she should never have come here. And then she was leaving, and there was a rabbit’s foot and a wispy beard, and a plump belly and then there was the sound of shattered glass and for a second she thought it was her, broken in a million pieces on the floor. But then there was...calm. There was stability. And then there was grey. Two grey eyes like melted steel stared back at her.

 

_ “Merlin, Granger! Do you have a death wish?” _

 

She had called him ferret, not realizing he had “saved” her and she laughed at that. 

 

Everything went black, her vision taking her to an intoxicated, dreamless state caught in two worlds. She was in Limbo now, a spectre that could not interact with the physical realm and doomed to a state of perpetual invisibility. She wondered darkly if comatose patients felt like this. Then there was voices, a feminine one was yelling at him to take her out of the bar, that the situation would only get worse, and the other voice--Malfoy--he was reluctant to comply. 

 

Trust. She said they would have to trust her. Were they risking themselves for her? Why?

  
  


_ “Because it is the right thing to do!” _ He had said. She hadn’t believed he meant it.

 

She saw outside herself now, thanks to the potion she could be a voyeur in the memories she wasn’t actively a part of.

 

Malfoy had looked over to the other Slytherins, their faces apprehensive, but it was Zabini who had nodded at him.  _ They had his back.  _

 

They apparated. She felt the familiar knotting in her tummy as he pulled her to the manor.

 

“My parents  _ cannot _ see you.” He uttered in a panicked tone.

 

He easily lifted Hermione bridal-style, his wand in one hand as he tried to steadily carry her throughout the humongous estate. 

 

The marble floors remained silent under his feet as he cast a  _ silencio  _ on his shoes. He was heading towards the west wing, the one she remembered---abhorrently---was the same side as the drawing room.

 

He walked as quickly as he could without dropping her, damning himself for living in such a monstrous home. He passed the drawing room and looked away in--shame? Guilt? She wasn't sure--as he continued on towards the guest rooms. The house was silent so he was sure---

 

“Draco? Is that you?” A light female voice called out. There were the clicks of heels on the marble behind him. Hermione gasped. It was Narcissa Malfoy.

 

Draco froze. He dared not move another step till he knew where his mother was.

 

“Yes mother.” He tried to sound calm, lest she suspect something was up. 

 

She sighed in relief. “Oh Merlin you gave me a fright! Where on earth were you?” She questioned worryingly, moving faster to catch up with her son.

Draco inconspicuously shifted his weight to get a better grip on his wand; Hermione found herself panicking even though she wasn’t actually there, consciously at least. 

 

“At  _ The Three Broomsticks _ with Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Greg.” He answered expectantly, walking a little faster.

 

His mother tsked, with what Hermione thought was all the poise in the world.

 

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your time? I understand they are your friends darling but shouldn’t you be focusing on--”

 

“---Finding a wife and making the next Malfoy heir?” He filled in easily, “Ugh, please mother save me the speech. I’ve only heard it a  _ thousand _ times.” He was almost at the guest room, a few more steps and he would be home-free.

 

“My dear boy, why do you fight this when you know---where are you going Draco? You know I don’t like coming to this area of the house.” She chastised.

 

Exactly.

 

“Yes, but I fancied a walk and this seemed a good place to burn off energy.”  

 

His mother huffed, but through determination she managed to swallow her fear and catch up to her son. 

 

“Draco---” but the instant she rounded the corner, he was gone.

 

Narcissa wrung her hands together, trying to quell their shaking.

 

“Oh that bloody boy.” She turned on her heel and walked back towards the east wing, the “safe” part of the house.

 

Draco struggled against Hermione’s dead weight, the _ disillusionment charm  _ wavering with his unsteady shifting.

 

“Merlin that was close.” he exclaimed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

 

He opened the door to the guest room and set Hermione down on the large bed. He divested her of her cloak and boots, and promptly slipped her wand out of her cloak and placed it in his back pocket. 

 

He tucked her in under the covers, and was about to leave when he heard her mumble in her sleep.

 

“No...don’t leave.” She whimpered, turning on her side as she coiled into herself.

 

He raised  an eyebrow, not sure if that comment was really meant for him, but he decided to stay all the same.

 

He shrugged, setting himself up on the divan after removing his cloak and shoes, leaving him in his trousers and white rolled-up dress shirt. He looked at her one last time, before closing his eyes.

 

“All right Granger. You’re bossy even in your sleep.” He smirked before falling unconscious himself.

 

* * *

 

She snapped back into the present moment, her head a lot clearer and her memories bringing to light what she had feared...she had been wrong. 


	3. Antithesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone! this is a bit of a short chapter, but I need to get over the hurdles of exposition before things can really get interesting! Leave a comment if you want, and I want to thank those who have commented already! You guys are so sweet;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an·tith·e·sis  
> noun  
> 1\. a person or thing that is the direct opposite of someone or something else.  
> "love is the antithesis of selfishness"  
> 2\. a figure of speech in which an opposition or contrast of ideas is expressed by parallelism of words that are the opposites of, or strongly contrasted with, each other, such as “hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all sins”

A great silence passed between them as Hermione collected herself; replaying over and over the events that happened last night in her head. It was unfathomable really that Malfoy---pureblood elitist and her former bully---would willingly take her into his home in order to keep her safe. 

 

She chanced a look at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his form that was resting lazily on the divan, ice still pressed to his crotch. He really was a baby when it came to pain.

 

“I can hear the gears turning in your head Granger, so spit out whatever you were going to say so we can get this over and done with.” He drawled, cracking the bones in his neck.

 

Finally, she turned to face him. “So you _ did  _ stay the night.” She admonished, withholding her urge to boast her triumph over him, though it was a shallow victory. 

 

The blonde went rigid for only a second, but Hermione’s perceptiveness did not miss the slight change in his body language. “Only to ensure you didn’t get up during the night in a drunken stupor and scare my mother half to death. Merlin knows she _ needs _ the stress.” He muttered the last part under his breath.

 

“Uh huh.” 

 

He narrowed his eyes at the only witch that could ever get under his skin. “Oh, and what would  _ you  _ have done had you woken up in the middle of the night and wandered around the manor only to run into Narcissa Malfoy? Or better yet.. _.Lucius _ .” His silver eyes took on a dangerous glint.

 

She swallowed involuntarily, the thought of the older Malfoy’s antagonizing presence and hard, soulless gaze was something one did not forget. 

 

She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you have a point.”

Draco quirked a curious eyebrow. “Did Hermione Granger just... _ agree _ with me?” He couldn’t help the smirk that split his lips into Cheshire proportions. 

 

She huffed, affronted by the unexpected turn of events. “Yes, it would seem so.” 

 

“Well, there is a first time for everything.” He stretched his long arms over his head, a yawn escaping his lips and she wondered just how long he had been awake. Judging by the position of the sun’s rays it was around midday, she wondered if her co-workers at the  _ Department of Magical Law Enforcement _ were worried about her since she hadn’t owled in that she would not be coming. Then again, she didn’t think she would be holed up at  _ Malfoy Manor _ of all places after a long night of drunken stupidity on her part. 

 

Pulled out of her thoughts, she studied her unexpected “savior”, and was puzzled by his apparent ease of having her in his home. Here they were, sitting side by side, just a few years after a war that shook the wizarding world to its very core. How did they end up like this? 

 

“What now?” she heard herself say.

 

This question startled him, his hand coming up to scratch into platinum locks at the back of his head. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, it seemed. 

 

“I don’t know...I guess I’ll wait till my parents are asleep and then I’ll sneak you out the floo in the main foyer.” He shrugged, picking nonexistent lint of his button-up shirt.

 

“Oh no no no no, I am  _ not  _ staying here till nightfall Malfoy!” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice, “I’ll just apparate out of here--” She leaped off the divan with intention of doing just that, wand be damned.

 

“Not if the anti-apparition wards have anything to say about it.” He revealed.

 

Ah yes, the Malfoys most likely had a few restrictions placed on them by the Ministry, probably unnecessary precautions but Hermione was the leading expert on paranoia. 

 

“Can’t we just wait till they leave for some noble tea party or other? I am sure they have _plenty_ of those.” She tried not to turn up her nose at the oh-so-indulgent lives of the bourgeois. Must they be so excessive?

 

Malfoy’s eyes turned cold for a second, his jaw tightening till the chiselled bones of his cheek looked as if they would pierce through his skin,  _ You could cut glass on those things  _ she thought with a hint of envy. Ron’s cheeks had always been plump and round like soft dough, nothing like the angular man before her. She felt herself bristle at the thought of the redhead’s name, the wounds still too fresh. 

 

“I would love nothing more than for that to be true Granger. You have no idea,” He admitted bitterly. “However, my parents have been...keeping to themselves these days. They never leave the house.” He clenched the ice pack in his lithe fingers, the cold colouring his hands red with mild frostbite.

 

Hermione could not hide her shock, her body sitting back down on her behalf. The great and proud Malfoys were shut-ins? Since when did the peacocks of the wizarding world hide themselves away in a lonely manor?

 

_ No wonder their son looks stir-crazy. He probably has to look after them too.  _ There was a tiny dollop of pity forming in her stomach. 

 

Hermione’s fingers went to her chin thoughtfully, eyes wide as she had a conversation inside her own head. Draco couldn’t help but stare at her. It made him reminisce about their school days when her little schemes with Potter and Weasel would unearth new mysteries that only she was capable of solving. He would watch it consume her, throw her headlong into the underbelly of a world she was all but a babe in, an innocent thrown to the wolves. He put his feet up on the divan, crossing one impossibly long leg over the other--wincing-- and bending them slightly so they wouldn’t spill onto Granger’s thighs. He imagined he’d get hit for that. 

 

“Well, since we’re holed up here all day, why don’t you tell me why you were crying your eyes out in a shoddy tavern last night?” He tried to hide his intrigue with his usual bluntness, hoping to get more than a rise out of her. 

  
  


Hermione snapped out of her pondering and her eyes narrowed. That dollop of pity shrivelled up into a modicum the size of a molecule. She remembered why she’d punched him in third year. 

 

“Like I’d tell you.” She snorted. 

 

Draco couldn’t help but feel offended by that. He did save her bloody life after all, he had the right to know why. He leaned closer to her, the ice packet falling onto the carpet below with his movements. 

 

“Why? Because I am a former Death Eater, I am not to be trusted with such delicate information?” He said bitterly.

 

“No, because you wouldn’t care.” She crossed her arms, trying to get him to hopefully drop the subject.

 

“Try me.”

 

“What?”

 

“You deaf? I said try me. Obviously it has something to do with Weasley and Potter, otherwise you would be with one of them now and not here with me.” He revealed his suspicions from last night, and judging by her stuttering lips it was obviously true.

 

She cursed his perceptiveness, he’d always been maddeningly good at deducing things ever since they were young. Like that one time he figured out they had been sneaking out to see Hagrid using an _ invisibility cloak _ while they were still in first year.  It would be a fantastic skill to have at the  _ Department of Magical Law Enforcement  _ where she worked as the Deputy Head, though she loathed to admit it. People like him shouldn’t be talented, it's too unfair. 

 

“So what? We got into a little fight, friends fight all the time, nothing special…” she was lying through her teeth, the hurt on her face probably giving her away just as easily as her words. 

 

He studied her for a minute, grey eyes calculating and thoughtful. She felt so exposed like this, her expression open for him to see and dissect to his desire. She looked away, loathing how honest she was and wished she could be more like the man in front of her, a lying snake who didn’t let anyone know he was in pain their entire sixth year. 

 

“Granger.” He pressed, knowing he was close to getting what he wanted.

 

“What?”

 

“The truth.” There was a softening in his eyes and it reminded her of Harry’s pitying looks when she told him about Ron and Lavender all those years ago, the pain that was reflected in those wise and terrified pupils that had seen so much death already, but not having the girl he loved seemed to somehow hurt him more. It damaged him. 

 

She sighed, not knowing how she ended up at this moment in time, but decided to say fuck it, and tumble down into Fate’s confusing labyrinth without resistance. She would drink the bottle that Destiny handed to her without complaint. 

 

She looked down at her hands in her lap as she tried to find the right way to begin. He patiently waited, knowing that whatever she was going to say would most likely be difficult. “It started a few days ago,” Her voice was brittle and low, at first, but it got stronger as she explained everything that lead up to where they were currently. He hadn’t interrupted her once, which surprised her, but she knew he had been listening as he nodded and gave little reactions to this new information, most prominently shock and disbelief.  She finished with a great huff of air, exhausted by her long-winded admission to a man she had once considered her enemy. He didn’t say anything for several seconds and she feared the worst. Would he judge her? Take Ron and Harry’s side despite the irrationality of it? Would he blame her for their apparent hatred and transformation into vicious corruptions of their former selves?  She found it hard to breathe as the silence droned on. She wanted to leave, but the fear of running into the infamous Malfoy senior kept her bum planted firmly in her seat. 

 

Finally, he turned to face her, lips pursed. “Huh.”

 

Hermione blinked, then glared at the insufferable blonde next to her. “Really? After all that, all you have to say is,  _ huh _ ?” She chided, wanting to pull on her hair in frustration.

 

He chuckled, a princely sound that made her scowl further for it was so pleasant. “ Well, what do you want me to say, I don’t doubt you it's just...hard to believe is all,” He shook his head. “Who would've thought that saint Potter and the Weasel king would be as tyrannous as they come. And that’s coming from a Slytherin. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so disgusting,” He sneered. 

 

Her anger lessened, but only just. “I am not exaggerating if that’s what you are implying.” 

 

He shrugged nonchalantly,“I’d have to see it to believe it.” He was playing with fire at this point,  It was almost as if he _wanted_ to get burned. 

 

Logic and reason could only get one so far, and Hermione had reached a tipping point. She stood up abruptly and stomped over to Malfoy, flipping him over slightly so she could grab his wand where it was stuffed in the back pocket of his trousers. He yelped in pain, her roughness putting tension on some very sore muscles. 

 

“Ow! Merlin woman, you have the gentleness of a bloody werewolf!” He jibed, scrambling for the ice pack only to realize it had melted some time ago.

 

“Do I  _ want _ to know how you knew exactly where I keep my wand?” He would have smirked if he wasn’t afraid it would get him hexed. 

She ignored him and couldn’t help but grin at his agony, or the fear in his eyes as she pointed his wand towards him. 

 

“Do you have a  _ Pensieve _ ?” She inquired in a falsely polite tone.

 

He scoffed, affronted by not only her outrageous behaviour but by her implications that he would in fact  _ not _ own one. “Of course I do, who do you think you’re talking to?” His pride outweighed his pain apparently.

 

She rolled her eyes,  _ accio _ ing the device without a second to waste. He tried not to look impressed.  

 

The Pensieve was round and a deep Prussian-blue, shimmering like water underneath a moonlit sky. It hovered a few inches above her head, and she carefully lowered it so that it was at waist-level. 

 

He immediately understood what she wanted him to do, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to comply. He stared up at her with an uneasy expression. “Granger--”

 

“No,” She interrupted, “You wanted to hear the truth, now you’ll  _ see _ it.” Her eyes were hardened and watery at the same time, like broken glass that had been washed out to sea.

 

He stood up, the ache in his groin only a mild concern now as he peered wistfully into the bowl below him. Using his wand, her fingers shakily pushed the hawthorn into her temple, her eyes closed in concentration. He watched as the white wisp fell into the liquid, swirling around like the lost tortured souls trapped in Hades’ hourglass. 

 

“Go ahead.” She nodded.

 

“Still bossy as ever.” he muttered, bending his torso so he could submerge his face into the bowl.

* * *

His vision blurred for a moment, the water changing colour till he was transported to a marsh in an open field. The Burrow. 

 

The old house towered in a chimera of different woods, colours and shapes---an abomination, the yellow grass and grey skies painting a picture of a horror setting in a novel and not a humble family’s charming farm. 

 

They were all standing there, a mass of red hair and empty expressions with one black dot in the sea of red. Harry. His arms were crossing his chest, his wife by his side and they both seemed to be scowling at Hermione who stood facing all of them, her back to the empty dead field. 

 

“You ruined everything!” Harry had said, spittle flying from his mouth like a hound’s beastly snarl. No one disagreed with him, instead, their eyes seemed to alight with a flame of hatred that Draco didn’t even think  _ he  _ was capable of producing. 

 

Hermione looked so small, her stature not large to begin with, but the emptiness behind her seemed to swallow her up just like his ceiling had. “Ha-Harry please..just--”

 

He gave a cruel laugh, which prompted the others to smirk and laugh with him. “I think we are all done with listening to you Hermione. Bossy, bossy girl,” He tsked, taking a step towards her as she took one step back, “Everyone  _ hates  _ that about you. We hate hearing your shrill voice and thinking you are right all the time, it is sickening,” He growls, “No wonder Ron doesn’t want to marry you anymore, he doesn’t want someone bossing him around every time they spread their legs for him!” Everyone started laughing, it was a cacophony of ugly sounds, a symphony that not even hellions would enjoy.  It made Draco sick. The house behind them seemed to grow larger, as if feeding off of their hate. He could almost hear the creaks of wood, imagining it as growls from a creature most vile. 

 

Hermione’s eyes widened and the tears that poured down her face made him think again of the drawing room, but this time her anguish wasn’t brought on by curses from crazy Death Eaters, it was from her friends’ brutal words. How could this have happened?

 

Hermione crumbled to the ground, heart wrenching sounds breaking through her vocal cords and cutting the air around her like a finely sharpened blade. She begged, a sound he had only heard once before. “No-- please Ron! I--I’ll be better I swear!” She promised, blubbering out words as her eyes shone with hurt and self-loathing. He recognized that look instantly. 

 

Ron stomped over to her quickly, grabbing her by the back of her head and yanking her head up to face him painfully. She cried out but he didn't seem to care. “Get out of here. We never want to see you again.” He had so much conviction in his voice that Draco was convinced he truly did believe that.

 

Except...something was off. 

  
“ _ Prohibere _ ” He paused the memory instantly, stepping around the space until he could figure out what was wrong with this picture, besides the obvious character overhauls that Potter and the Weasleys had undergone. 

 

He scanned each of their faces, scrutinizing every minuscule feature. Yes, whatever was wrong had to be there...but what? It was staring him in the face and he knew it--

 

Oh.

 

_ Oh.  _

 

He kneeled down to where Granger and the Weasel were frozen in their domestic. It’s not that he ogled the sickening redhead often, but he was pretty sure the Weasel’s eyes were _ blue _ and not black. It was almost unnatural, the soul-sucking abyss he had for irises that seemed to be magically induced. He jogged over to Potter and his eyes were also black instead of that infernal green just like Ron’s. It appeared as if the whole Weasley clan had been infected by something, turning them more barbaric and uncivilized than usual. 

 

Interesting, They couldn’t be, no...were they? He had seen these symptoms before, but only incredibly powerful dark magic could sustain and imprison its victims for this long. 

 

Without a doubt, the people in front of him had been, unfortunately...

 

_...Bewitched.  _


	4. Serendipity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> I am a little late on the chapter but that's because i wanted to implement some elements that White Bishop helpfully suggested to me in the comments and I had a colossal pile of homework to finish up;( This chapter is a little on the short side but luckily next weeks is nice and long;)
> 
> enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ser·en·dip·i·ty
> 
> noun
> 
> the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.  
> "a fortunate stroke of serendipity"

 

It was ludicrous, unfathomable, inscrutable, downright incomprehensible! Harry Bloody Potter, saviour of the wizarding world and living legend had been  _ bewitched.  _ And better yet, his entire adopted family of powerful pure-bloods had also failed to escape whatever darkness had slithered into their lives and suffocated them with no hope of escape. He couldn’t help but feel jostled at the thought. If the golden trio--or at least two thirds of them--were incapacitated by someone who  _ wasn’t _ Voldemort, who would be there to save the rest of them? A pit formed in his stomach, one he hadn’t felt since before the end of the war.

 

He re-emerged from the _ pensieve _ , unsure of what to do with this new development or how to break it to the girl standing in front of him.  _ Hadn’t she suffered enough?  _ He thought grimly, flashes of blood and chandeliers pricking his vision. 

 

She stood with her arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently with an eyebrow raised expectantly. It was then that he noticed her curls were exceptionally wild, tousled by drunken sleep and  worried fingers. 

 

“Well?” She said after a minute, not liking his stunned silence.

 

He breathed in deeply, silver eyes focusing on everywhere but her. He ran a hand through his platinum hair. “...how to put this lightly,” He began, shifting his weight from side to side.

 

She huffed indignantly, which startled him. “If you honestly still don’t believe me, I swear--”

 

He put his hands up in defense, amazed by how easily she could turn on him. Perhaps she  _ was _ a werewolf. “Woah, who the bloody hell said that? Of course I believe you, idiot I was just going to inform you about something I discovered.” He retorted, praying she wouldn’t bite his head off.

 

She softened instantly, intrigued by his statement. “What did you discover?” 

 

He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you going to blow your top again?”

 

“I did not blow my top!” She defended, though her exasperated tone probably didn’t aid her in her case.

 

He threw her a knowing smirk and again she had the urge to punch him. “Oh, out with it you git.” She relented, and he realized this was the best he was going to get. 

 

He sat himself down on the divan, waiting for her to do the same before he recounted what he saw.

 

“Granger, what colour are Weasel’s eyes?” She was taken aback by his question, what kind of game was he playing?

 

“Blue of course.” She stated as if it was obvious.

 

“And Potter’s?”

 

“Green.”

 

“Good, you pay attention to things outside of books, good to know,” He couldn’t help but jibe at her expense. “ Now, tell me, what colour were they yesterday when you last saw them?” She despised that he was talking to her like she was a child, but she found herself attempting to answer his question.

 

She looked towards the ceiling, brows furrowed, as she tried to recall what they had looked like. Obviously, something must have been amiss if Malfoy was questioning it--

 

Wait.

 

She saw it now, the small, very minute detail that changed the entire perspective on what had occurred the night before.

 

Black. 

 

Their eyes had been black, not Weasley blue or that beautiful bright evergreen. 

She felt like crying, she wasn’t sure if it was out devastation or relief. 

 

What the hell had happened to her friends?

 

“Well, it's not like any  _ bewitchment _ I have seen before,” Malfoy continued coolly once he assumed she had figured it out. “ Generally there is a milky film over the eyes, like with the  _ Imperius _ curse, but theirs appears to be all black.” His cadence reminded her of that of a Hogwarts professor, all slow and assured, like they can never be proven wrong. She bristled at the thought of him sitting in a classroom, chalk in hand, berating students for the tiniest of infractions. She would pity any student who had the misfortune of being in his class. 

 

She had almost missed what he said. “ _ Bewitched _ ?”

 

He nodded slowly. “I believe so.”

 

How could she have missed that? Perhaps in her grief, she had failed to see the problem for what it was and instead imagined it as a worst case scenario come to life. Her paranoia, it had hindered her once again from seeing the truth. Did she honestly think---no,  _ believe- _ \--that her friends and her fiancé of all people, would  _ turn _ on her? Was she that despicable of a person? 

 

As if reading her thoughts, Draco spoke up. “I understand.” 

 

Hermione was staggered out of her self-berating, meeting his gaze across the divan. “Wait… you do?”

He looked away shyly, pretending something out the window caught his attention.“Yeah. I’d be pretty distressed if this happened to me. Anyone would. You didn't see it, so what. Even if I hadn’t been here you’d probably figure it out eventually...you always do,” He shrugged.  “So, what are you and that  _ giant brain _ of yours going to do about it?” He turned to face her, cheek resting on top of his knuckles.

 

She found herself unable to speak, but she was grateful for Malfoy giving her the proverbial ‘kick in the arse’ she needed, though she would never admit it out loud. 

 

She shook her head, wanting to laugh at how twisted her reality had become. They’d never be safe, and this was just further proof that they were marked, meant to suffer for as long as they breathed. Her friends, her family, her love...they had all been hunted once again, chosen to be puppets in someone else’s game  _ again,  _ and she was the only one who could save them. She was all alone.

 

Well, maybe not  _ all  _ alone…

 

Malfoy had remained silent as she talked circles inside her head, his expression neutral, but she detected a hint of worry in his features. It was his eyes, they always gave him away.  He had become exceedingly good at hiding his emotions, schooling his features into a perfect façade that could fool anyone, but  _ she  _ wasn’t anyone. She had first figured out his tell back in second year, the day she had told him that the only reason he made it onto the quidditch team was because his father had essentially bribed them into accepting him. He had given her an ugly sneer, his mouth smirking as he easily spat those foul words at her, but his eyes, they had been hurt by what she said. He was vulnerable and now she knew she could get under his skin; He may have won the battle, but  _ she  _ had won the war.  

 

If he was worried, then that had to mean he cared. She studied the man before her, and besides the usual self-entitled egotisms of his personality, she could not detect any malice where it had once existed before. She bit her lip, hoping she wasn’t going to regret what she was about to do.

 

“Malfoy.” She called, growing confident by the second.

 

“Hmm?” He responded, trying not to notice that glint in her eye that she got whenever she got a particularly fantastic idea. 

 

“ I’m going to find out who did this to them...and you’re going to help me whether you like it or not.” 

 

He stared at her in astonishment, wondering if she had hit her head at any point last night. Hermione Granger, witch for the light, and celebrated war heroine was asking  _ him _ \--of all people--to help her save her friends? The same friends mind you, that he had fought  _ against _ in one of the greatest wars in history?

 

They must have entered an alternate universe at some point in time, for everything was nonsensical. 

_ Hello Alice, and welcome to Wonderland  _ he couldn’t help but think.

 

He sighed, staring at the still determined expression she wore like armour into battle.

 

“...I guess I have no say in this, do I?” He chuckled.

 

“No, I am afraid not.” 

 

Slowly, he extended his arm out towards her. “Then...I guess I accept your offer...though it wasn’t exactly an offer was it?” 

 

She giggled. Leave it to Malfoy to make a crack about everything. He really was insufferable.

She went to shake his hand, but he pulled back slightly as he thought of something, grasping his chin in thought.

 

“If I do this...there is something you need to do for me as well.”

 

Her smile fell. Of course the bloody Slytherin in him would take advantage of the situation, whether her friends’ lives depended on it or not.

 

“And what, may I ask, do you want me to do?” She bit out, already hating herself for asking for his assistance.

 

He bit his lip, but after nodding he made his requests. “If we’re successful--no-- _ when _ we’re successful...you have to promise I get credit for helping you.” He demanded in a this-is-non-negotiable kind of tone.

 

Hermione’s brows furrowed. That’s it? That’s all he wanted? She would have done that anyway, there was no need to ask. Judging by the look on his face though, it must really mean a lot to him and after a moment she understood why. His reputation. Every Slytherin whose family had been Death Eaters had been shunned after the war, their name dragged through the mud with no hope of winning the public back in their favour. She thought of his parents outside that door and how they were so afraid of the world outside these walls that they never left, barricaded themselves against the ridicule that came with their mistakes. It was a miserable existence and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone...not even her worst enemy. 

 

The dollop of pity welled up inside her again. 

 

“...Alright.”

He perked up after hearing that and a smile--a genuine smile--graced his lips in what Hermione thought was the first time in a very long time. 

 

She took his hand, surprised by how warm and large it felt as it engulfed her own tiny fingers.

 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Granger.” He smirked, still holding her hand in his.

 

She slowly felt the corners of her lip turning up and she nodded in agreement.

 

“Likewise.”

 

_ Ah yes, this was a serendipitous turn of events indeed.  _ They both thought with unexpected relief.

 

* * *

 

“No, Absolutely Not!”

 

“What do you mean ‘No’?” 

 

“I mean no, I  _ will not _ allow you to do something that is clearly going to get all of us thrown in Azkaban.”

 

Draco frowned, his pale bottom lip jutting out at Pans’ flat refusal. He was currently standing in her walk-in closet, the morning air seeping into the dark wood of her spacious room. 

 

Pansy was staring hard at him through the reflection of her floor-length mirror, last month’s couture pressed against her body as she inspected it. It took Pansy two hours to get ready on a good day, imagine how long it would be now that she was worked up. Draco should have ate before he left his house this morning. 

 

“But if you just--”

“No.” 

“If you considered for a second--”

“No!”

“Damn it, Pans! Would you hear me out!?” His patience was wearing as thin as the cloth of the sheer dress in her hands.

 

She held her tongue, but let him speak, unamused daggers being thrown at his head all the while. He had to work fast then, lest it all fell apart.

 

“ Thank you,” He had to put his silver tongue to use. It would take a while with Pansy, but he always won out in the end. This reminded him of the time when they were children and he had attempted to convince her to “invest” her pumpkin pasties in him which would lead to a greater return on said investment. With a little smile and a tiny “please” from his lips, she was putty in his hands. She had never quite forgiven him for the use of that tactic, especially once she realized he would continue to employ it against whenever the need arose. For some reason, she could never resist.

 

He had to work his magic now, and not the wizarding kind.

 

His silver eyes softened to a molten grey, and already he noticed the shift in her expression, the icy features looking considerably less stern, as if melted. 

 

“Pans, why don’t you see it from my perspective? Do you honestly think I would enter into a deal if it wouldn’t benefit “us” in some way? Theo, Blaise and Greg already agree with me--”

 

She froze over again, and he could almost feel the change. “You already  _ told them?!  _ Without me?!” She flung the dress to the side of the closet and placed her toned arms on her hips. Draco winced at his rookie mistake. Rule number one:  _ Never  _ let Pansy know you told someone something before you told her. It was a betrayal of the worst kind in her books. He needed to fix this, and fast.

 

His hands came up in defence and he began to back out of the closet that seemed to go on for miles all of the sudden. “Now Pans, I only let them know because Blaise had flooed over last night after Granger left. I couldn’t wait after that point and you were in Paris for the day so--”

 

“--So you thought it was best to round up the boys and bring them to your side so that I wouldn’t be able to say no, right?” Her nostrils flared, which was not a good sign. 

 

“No Pans, your opinion means everything to me and you know that,” He sighed, hating when she twisted his words. “Look, if you think it’s a bad idea, then I swear to Merlin I will tell Granger the deal is off,”

 

This seemed to temper her, but only slightly. He straightened up, a sense of confidence surging through him “But I honestly think this is the best course of action for us. An opportunity, one we will likely never see again might I add, has landed in our laps. For _ once _ in our lives Pans, we get to play hero, we get the adoration and fame of the wizarding world, and not the looks of disdain that has driven us all into downward spirals since the end of that fucking war.”

 

He stepped closer to her, taking her wrist in his “We got a shitty deal, and I am done living with the shame that comes with that. Harry Potter had his turn to show the world what he was made of, don’t you think it is time we had ours?” There was a vulnerability to his voice that mesmerized the Slytherin girl. Draco wanted this, and he wanted this badly. 

 

She had watched with pain in her heart as the fire inside him had continued to wane throughout the years, beginning with their sixth year. It was a little known fact, but Draco had a sense of determination that seemed to drive him like the steam-powered engine of the Hogwarts Express. He had dreams, goals he had wanted to reach and she had been convinced that he would. But that had been taken away from him, ripped out of his fingers by the cruel wench of Fate. She thought that with time he would return to that state, but he only seemed more hollow and devoid of any motivation as the clock continued to tick on. 

 

She would regret this, she could feel it in her very bones, but she could not say no. She refused to be the one to take away this little scrap of hope from a man who needed it so desperately.

 

“Do you think she’d agree to take the rest of us on? This deal only seems to apply to you.” she said after a long moment. 

 

Draco’s nervousness fell away, a smirk slipping into its place. His relief was obvious. “Then I will make her agree. She would be foolish to think we could do this alone.” He reasoned.

 

Pansy breathed out a hefty sigh, but at this point all she could do was watch over her boys. Hermione Granger might have seemed the saint, but one could not be too careful. For all she knew the pompous Gryffindor could be throwing them to the wolves. 

 

“Alright. I will agree to join you on your mad quest--however,” She lifted a finger to emphasize her point and he tried not to look annoyed.

 

“The moment, and I mean it, things begin to get rough, you promise me you’ll pull out of the deal, and I don’t care if I have to drag you out on your arse, but I _refuse_ to let you--or our friends-- die over something that doesn’t concern us in the first place.” Her expression was serious.

 

Draco considered her words for a moment, and was touched by her concern for all of them. He really did make the right choice in friends.

 

“Alright.” He nodded, letting go of her wrist.

 

Pansy smiled, her worries pushed to the back of her mind for the moment.

  
“Good. Now help me get dressed so we can meet the others. I can already hear Theo’s stomach growling from here.” 


	5. Dèpaysement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour!
> 
> This one is longer than last week's and i really enjoyed writing it:) by the way, I am curious to know what some of your headcanons are for these characters? (whether it be appearance or personality headcanons) Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Appearance-wise my headcanon Blaise Zabini looks like Belgian singer Stromae (y'all should really check out his music because it is awesome)  
> here's a pic:  
> https://melbcm.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/stromae.png
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dè·pay·se·ment  
> Noun  
> When someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one.

Hermione had remained at  _Malfoy Manor_ for several more hours until the youngest member of the family deemed it safe enough for her to floo home. In that time, they had conversations ranging from polite small talk to some mild squabbling to full-blown arguments. The threat of hexes flying--and destroying--the guest room was almost a reality, though she suspected the rooms were coated in protective charms so that very thing did not occur. Now she wishes she’d thrown a few at the prat instead of worrying about hitting his décor.

 

Their biggest fight happened once they got on the topic of Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys and what they were going to do with them.

 

_“We have to inform the Ministry,” Hermione had said with conviction, like it was the obvious course of action. Her counterpart however, didn’t seem to think so._

 

_“That’s a terrible idea.”_

 

 _The Gryffindor stared daggers at him._ **_Of course_ ** _he had to be contrary. “How so?” She grit out._

 

_“It’s obvious Granger.”_

 

 _“Well apparently it isn’t since I don’t understand why on earth you think keeping this to_ **_ourselves_ ** _is a good idea.”_

 

 _“No--I meant it’s_ **_obvious_ ** _Granger. Whoever the hell bewitched your friends probably wants you to do just that--imagine the uproar that would occur if the news got out to the public. There would be riots in the streets.” He tried to reason with her, but he pretty much predicted the response he was going to get._

 

 _“Be that as it may,_ **_Malfoy_ ** _, I am the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and If I don’t report my findings, there will be serious infractions---”_

 

_“--Still the teacher’s pet even now?” He cut in, sipping from one of the cups of tea he had procured for them a while ago. “Have you ever broken the rules in your life, Granger? Merlin, you think you’d melt into the ground or something the way you so fearfully obey them.” He snorted, the only one finding his words amusing._

 

_Hermione gasped, so offended by his comment that she smacked her saucer against the end table, her earl grey spilling over the rim of the porcelain teacup balancing on top of it. Draco resisted the urge to jump at her outburst._

 

 _“Excuse me?! I don’t have to explain myself to you of all people_ **_Malfoy_ ** _, since you know perfectly well that I am capable of bending the law to suit my needs from time to time! It’s how we won the bloody war! But that’s not the point, we have to trust that the Ministry will know what to do--”_

 

_Draco laughed, goading her more than he ever had at Hogwarts. “Oh, that’s rich Granger, do you actually think those bumbling fools will be of any use to anybody? They’ll make the whole thing worse. The Patil twins are better at keeping secrets than that sorry lot. For all we know this could be the start of another bloody war.”_

 

_Hermione blanched at the thought. They had just ended one of the most horrific experiences of her life, and then to be forced to jump back into the fray...she shuddered._

 

_“That’s all the more reason to tell them, then! I can’t just leave my friends to wander around the wizarding world with their minds being controlled by some madman!” She yelled, exasperated by the stubborn blonde in front of her._

 

 _A great chasm hollowed out her chest, her heart hammering against her ribcage like a trapped hummingbird. How_ **_dare_ ** _he ask her to abandon them, when she knew they were ensnared by a puppetmaster most foul. Her family was always there for her in times of strife, so of course she had to be there for them during theirs. They were one unit, a connection deeper than blood binding them, and their anguish was her anguish. Her eyes misted over._

 

 _Malfoy looked her in the eyes, lips pursed as if he was stopping himself from saying something. “It won’t be easy Granger, but if this lunatic finds out we’re on to then already, who knows how they will react. We have to stay low for now, keep pretending we’re oblivious,” He got serious for a moment, spotting the angry tears in her eyes that refused to fall. “This means--and I mean it--you can’t tell_ **_anyone_ ** _about what happened to them. Do you understand?”_

 

_Hermione disliked the idea, there were loads of people she could trust. “But what about--”_

 

_“No.”_

 

_“Ugh, but I am sure that--”_

 

_“No, Granger. Anyone can be a suspect; close friends and people at the Ministry included.” He warned._

 

_“Including you?”_

 

_He stiffened, an indecipherable emotion crossed his features for a second before it was gone._

 

_“Yeah, I guess so. Including me.” He spoke bitterly._

 

_Hermione looked down at her feet, a little ashamed for her words. His reputation preceded him, however, so she would remain diligently on her toes._

 

_Her anger rolled off her in waves; though she loathed to admit it, he had a point. The Ministry truly was useless when it came to matters dealing with dark wizards, especially when they were notorious for letting said dark wizards slip inside their ranks, causing all kinds of cracks and leaks of vital information.  This is why she had elected to spend her time reshaping the ministry into a well-oiled machine. It was proving to take a lot longer than she thought. When she had finally calmed herself, she turned to face him on the divan, his silver irises somewhere far away._

 

_“Malfoy.” She spoke softly._

 

_He quirked an eyebrow at her. She took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “I’ll agree to not tell the Ministry--however,” She stuck up her pointer finger to halt his satisfied smirk. “...if things start getting out of hand, and we can’t handle this on our own for whatever reason, than I am marching straight over to the Minister For Magic himself, and telling him the whole thing.” She explained with finality._

 

_He nodded, confidence swelling in his chest. “Who said we were on our own in this?” He chuckled, knowing that he held a secret over her._

 

_“What the bloody hell does that mean?” She barked, and he only smirked wider._

 

_“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see,” He wiggled an aristocratic eyebrow, before pulling out a pocket watch from behind him. It shone with the illumination of the fireplace, molten gold bending the light to dance across its surface. She could see the Malfoy ‘M’ engraved ornately onto the back of it. It was beautiful, if not gaudy.  “Ah, it seems my parents have hopped into bed, which means you and I, have an escape to make.” He announced, popping of the divan and moving over the fireplace mantle. Hermione breathed in a sigh of relief. Finally she could go home._

 

 **_To an empty bed, in an empty house._ ** _She thought grimly, and that huge chasm grew wider.  She definitely wasn’t going to sleep tonight, so perhaps she’d start researching everything she could on bewitchment and versions of the imperious curse to see if there was a cure._

 

_Suddenly a familiar object made of vine appeared out of the corner of her eye. She snatched her wand out of his pale fingers and he chuckled. She growled at him, inspecting her wand for damages._

 

_“Relax, It was on the mantle the whole time, I had put a disillusionment charm on it.”_

 

_“You have no idea how it feels to be without a wand for an extended period of time. It’s like missing a limb or an organ.” She explained, not expecting him to understand._

 

_“I know. Potter had mine for a year remember? It even changed allegiance to him at one point,” He scoffed, brandishing his own wand from his pocket to study it. “You have no idea how it feels to have your wand betray you for someone else. It’s like a part of your soul has died.” He echoed her earlier words, easily shutting her up._

 

_Well wasn’t he full of surprises._

 

_“No, I guess I don’t.”_

 

 _Once they stepped outside that door however, a sharp surge of panic set in. The walls. They looked so familiar even though they weren’t shrouded in a cold darkness like before. Somehow remaining in that guest room had made her forget exactly where she was, as if it was a separate dimension from the one it was connected to.  Of course she knew she was in the manor, but the actual reality of it hadn’t dawned on her until now. She was_ **_here;_ ** _the place where her nightmares still transported her like a portkey from hell. She hadn’t been concerned before, it was as if Malfoy had muted out everything else, his ego taking up most of her attention as well as the space in the room. He tended to do that without even trying; when they were younger people gravitated towards him even when they didn’t like him. Hell,Harry and Ron had given him most of their time and energy without ever intending to. But now that she was here, staring down a long black corridor that lead to so many rooms...to_ **_the_ ** _room, her blood ran cold._

 

_She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs heaved but nothing was flowing in them, suffocating her like a viper did its prey. She was a slave to her own tortured mind and she hated it._

 

_“Granger, you ok?” His tone lacked any of its usual amusement._

 

_She couldn’t speak, instead felt her body shut down, knees buckle and her weight drag her towards the carpeted floor._

 

_“Granger!”_

 

_Two strong arms lifted her by her elbows, catching her before she shattered again, like he had last night. They should stop making a habit out of it._

 

_Her eyes were wide, she saw things she really wished she could forget, wished she could cast the cursed memories out to sea, the tide taking them to a far away land. A phantom pain trailed up her arm, danced tauntingly across her scar before shooting up to her mind. The words ‘Crucio!’ and a cackling grin rung out in her eardrums painfully. She wanted to scream, but her teeth digging into her lip refused to let the sound escape, biting hard enough to draw blood from her and panic from the blonde still grasping her._

 

_“Oi, uh, it’s---it’s going to be alright Granger! Shit, I really didn’t think this through did I?” He shook his head, attempting to steady the girl on her feet._

 

 _Hermione could barely hear him over the cries inside her head, but he tried again. “Just breathe, Granger. Try to_ **_breathe_ ** _.” He inhaled, demonstrating what to do._

 

_She obliged after a moment, breathing in seven seconds, holding for four, and breathing out of eight. Just like the therapists had said. Just like Malfoy was doing now. She wondered stupidly if they had the same therapist._

 

_After about a solid five minutes of regaining her breath, she felt herself calm down; the tension and fear evaporating slowly like rain after a storm. The whole time, Malfoy hadn’t let go of her once._

 

_She ran a shaky hand through her hair, looking up at Malfoy from where he had disentangled himself from her. A long silence passed between them, but it was filled with a shared understanding that they dared not speak about aloud._

 

_“Take your time.” Was all he said, Grey eyes cool with something indecipherable._

 

_She nodded unsurely, steeling herself for what would not be a pleasant experience. Looking at him however, gave her a surge of confidence. She was Hermione Granger, and she would be damned if she let a Malfoy think she was too cowardly, no matter how justified the reason._

 

Eventually,she had managed to make it to the floo unseen, narrowly avoiding one of the Malfoy house-elves in the process. Malfoy had paled beside her when he heard the little hums of Lulu as she skipped by the foyer, twirling a duster between her tiny fingers.

 

_“Before you get your panties in a twist, Lulu is a free house-elf so none of your spew crap, thanks.” He had assured her the instant the oblivious creature had turned the corner and they were free to leave the little alcove they had ducked into._

 

_She hit him in his chest though it lacked any real strength since she was pressed so close against him. The subtle scent of smoked wood and cinnamon wafted up to her nostrils. She recognized it from the night before. “It’s S.P.E.W! And how the hell do you expect me to believe that after your father’s less-than-humane treatment of Dobby.” She whispered through gritted teeth._

 

_“Well, why don’t you go ask her then? Merlin, you’d think she’d take my word for it after all I’ve done--ow! Honestly woman, must you be so violent?” He moaned, grabbing the shoulder she had pounded her fist against. It seemed that he had returned to his usual egotistic self. Well, it was nice while it lasted._

 

_“You’re vile.”_

 

_“So are you.”_

 

_“Good.”_

 

_“Good.”_

 

After a glaring contest, they had somehow managed to make it to the floo and Hermione was sent home. She realized only after that she hadn’t asked where or when they were going to meet next for their little investigation. However, when she had unfurled her cloak from where it had been tucked under her arm, a small slip of parchment had fallen loose and floated gracefully to her floor. It smelled of smoked wood and cinnamon and she tried desperately hard not to admire the pleasant scent.

 

_Granger,_

 

 _I realized we hadn’t decided on where we would meet next so I decided for us. Meet me at_ **_The Three Broomsticks_ ** _this Friday at 5 o'clock.  It’s rarely busy at that time, so there will be no prying eyes. I hope you understand this is a nonnegotiable deal, and unfortunately till the end of this case, you’re stuck with me, though it really should be quite an honour for you. I don’t hand out my services willingly._

 

_See you Friday,_

_Malfoy_

 

_P.S what on bloody earth is wrong with your hair? I swear owls could nest in it. Pansy could probably help you with that._

 

She scowled as she read his note that was so arrogant and so much like Malfoy...that it made her sigh in relief. At least _something_ hadn’t changed and went all screwy on her. She could always count on the blonde’s prat-ness and unbelievably crass behaviour.

 

She had managed to make it to work on Tuesday without incident, and she was oddly relieved that no one seemed to think anything was wrong. She had spent all night buried in tomes, scanning everything on the pages in hopes that she could find something--anything--that might help them.

 

What she had gathered from numerous resources, was that the a person under _bewitchment_ , depending on the enchantment, will take up to a week’s time before things _really_ got violent, the spell finally having the victim under full control. They were safe, for now, she presumed. As long as she didn’t have contact with them again without some sort of plan, they would not be “activated”.

 

She worried at her lip, perturbed. Her desk had been piled high with cases containing various Auror mission reports, suspect profiles and standard administration documents, all of which had to be read through, filed, and assigned to various personnel by Hermione. Most likely by the week’s end if she was lucky. She groaned, unable to think about anything until her _own_ case was dealt with. She was certain that nothing in that heap of parchment could compare in severity level to the one that hadn’t even been reported to the Ministry. At least, she hoped not.

 

She placed her head in her hands, tangling her fingers through her untamed mass of curls and pulling in frustration. It did little to help with the disquiet that had settled in her stomach, eating away at her intestines like maggots.

 

Oh, curse Malfoy and his silver tongue. Had she had her way, she would have the whole investigation department and every single Auror available assigned to the case. But the magic, it was so ruthless and unyielding. She had played her memories over and over again in her head last night, and had been shocked when she was unable to locate a single sliver of her friends and her fiancé within those shadowy depths, two starless voids corrupting each and every one of her family’s once-kind faces.  Her blood ran cold peering into them, and it oddly reminded her of the Dementors, all joy escaping her within those reluctantly shared seconds. She wasn’t sure the department was equipped to catch someone with that sort of power, and unfortunately the few people most likely capable of doing so were the ones trapped under said person’s wicked spell.

 

They should never have let their guard down, if only they had listened to her, heeded her advice and not dismiss it as part of her PTSD. If they had, they would have paid attention to the sounds outside their doors as she did, clutched their wands tightly to their chest while walking at night as she did, and packed a little bag filled with everything one would need should they find themselves on the run that they kept hidden under their bed as she did.

 

She was not crazy like everyone thought, she was practical, and unfortunately she was also right.

 

She grabbed a quill out of her inkwell and set it to parchment, hurriedly scribbling across her page in a scrawl she could hardly call her best and certainly could not compare with the elegant script of the note she had read last night. He must have taken up something pretentious like calligraphy during his off days. Though now that she thought about it, his hand-writing had always been neat; it was the kind of beautifully crafted work that left her professors smiling and using as examples for other students, berating them if they did not reach the impossibly-high standards set by a lone arrogant boy who was probably born being able to write with practiced flourishes and balanced strokes. She had envied him.

 

Prat.

 

She wrote, digging the the quill tip a little harder into the creamy parchment than necessary.

 

_Malfoy,_

 

_I got your note last night and though I agree we should meet Friday, we should really do something about the bewitched members of my family before the spell gets any worse. We should...I don’t know, incapacitate them somehow, before they start hurting people. Through my research, I discovered that once a week passes they can no longer resist its power and will become more violent and unresponsive. I don’t know who is doing this to my family, but if they intend to weaponize them, I can’t just stand by and idly watch on. I have to do something. Let me know if you can assist me or not, otherwise I am going to the Burrow alone. Tonight. I can’t risk it._

 

_Please owl me soon,_

_Hermione Granger._

 

 _P.S My hair_ _does not_ _look like an owl nest! It’s just voluminous!_

 

Ink blots dripped onto the parchment as she rushed to finish it and sent it off on one of the ministry owls to Malfoy Manor. She hoped--prayed really--that his parents wouldn’t  happen upon it. It would not bode well for either of them if Narcissa Malfoy, or worse--- _Lucius_ learned that their perfect pureblood son was in contact with the witch that is part of the reason why they don’t leave their home anymore. She shivered.

 

A few hours later, and several cases that she had hardly been able to focus on let alone finish, Ernest Macmillan appeared at her door, a sealed letter in hand.

 

“Hey Hermione, a letter came for you.” The former-Hufflepuff informed her, a polite smile on his face.

 

“Oh, great! Thanks Ernie!” She reached for the letter, but he was still holding it, his eyes suddenly becoming concerned.

 

“You were missed yesterday. I hope everything is alright?” He inquired, the first person to actually do so.

 

Hermione fought the urge to bite her lip, hoping her terrible lying skills wouldn’t give her away.

 

“Oh! Yes! I must have worried everyone yesterday since I hadn’t owled that I wouldn’t be coming in.” She laughed nervously.

 

He was silent, before he finally smiled, as if realizing something. Hermione felt sweat soak through her blouse.

 

“Ah. No need to explain. A wild night at Harry’s I presume? Merlin knows you Gryffindors can drink.” He laughed, letting go of the letter which she quickly snatched out of his hands.

 

“Uh, yes well, we’ve been known to have a drink every now and then.” she ran her fingers through her hair, her grin taut and wanting to melt off her face.

 

Ernie laughed again, and giving her a nod and a signature Hufflepuff smile, he was out the door.

 

Hermione breathed in relief, wondering how the hell she was going to keep a lid on all of this for who knows how long. The truth was going to come out eventually.

 

She ripped open the letter, knowing exactly who it was from despite the lack of a Malfoy seal on the wax.

 

_Granger._

 

_I guess I should have known you wouldn’t remain idle for long. I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t to be honest. I’ll meet you at the Burrow around eleven. We’ll need the cover of night if things go awry. Be prepared for anything._

 

_See you soon,_

_Malfoy._

_P.S It’s a bird’s nest Granger. Always has been. Always will. Not necessarily a bad thing._

 

Hermione scoffed at his antics, but set to work on reading up on a bunch of subduing spells, defensive spells and wards that would come in handy if her family fought back. Her heart clenched at the thought of raising her wand at them, but it was for their own protection.

 

What a screwed up world they lived in.

 

* * *

 

She arrived at exactly eleven, apparating to the clearing just a few hundred metres away from the old property. It looked ominous with nightfall, jagged and twisted like a landlocked shipwreck that towered towards the heavens. It never used to look like that before, not to her at least. It had always been a warm place of welcome, the smells of Molly’s cooking and the charm of mismatched furniture, wool sweaters and copper pots had enveloped her like the best hug in the world. She didn’t feel that atmosphere here, it was cold and dead like something had rotted away at the core of this house, something far more sinister slithering into place. She wondered if Malfoy Manor had gone through a similar transition, or if it had always been a place of evil.

 

She hadn’t thought of how Malfoy would be getting here, but she saw his outline approach her out of the corner of her eye, platinum hair unmistakable even in the dark. His hands were in his pockets and their was a cautious set to his jaw.

 

She crossed her arms as a chilly wind seeped into her bones, despite the charcoal wool jumper covering her thoroughly.

 

“You look uncomfortable.” She observed with amusement.

 

Malfoy scoffed, rubbing his hands together as he scanned his surroundings. “Of course I am. I am in the bloody Weasel burrow with a bunch of bewitched angry red heads and a Potter that could hex my bits off in the blink of an eye, what do you think?”

 

She could see his point and decided it would probably be a good idea for her to be more cautious as well. They were dangerous in this state, like caged animals, and could not be reasoned with. She pulled her wand out of her pocket.

 

They walked carefully towards the house, the sound of feathered reedgrass crunching beneath their feet the only noise. They needed to be totally focused and aware of their surroundings.

 

The lights were dark inside the home, and it appeared to be silent even as they moved closer and closer towards the door.

 

The simple red wooden door was all that separated her from the suffering souls inside. She clenched her fists, trying to calm her racing heartbeat and shake the fuzziness from her mind. She could do this. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.

 

Her fingers were just about to wrap around the handle when a loud crackle of magic rang out into the night; and then another, and then another.

 

Hermione whipped around and pointed her wand at the open space, eyes scanning the darkness hysterically.

 

“What the bloody hell was that?!” She exclaimed, turning to Draco who appeared to be unfazed.

 

He didn’t answer her, instead putting his finger to his lips to warn her to be quiet. He turned to the blackness, sending a small lumos to hover a few feet above him.

 

“Took you long enough.” He chided, a disapproving frown tugging at his mouth.

 

Several footsteps began to close in on them, and despite the light she could not see who these people were. She pointed her wand at Draco, bewildered.

 

“I demand you tell me what is going on, Malfoy or so help me--”

 

A familiar baritone cut in before she could finish her threat. “There is no need for that, Granger, we’ll tell you ourselves.” he chuckled; a velvety, pleasant sound.

 

Blaise Zabini emerged from the shadows, his tall, lanky form followed closely by Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle. They had all been there that night at the tavern, she realized.

 

“What are you doing here?” she narrowed her eyes.

 

Pansy was the first to speak. “Oh trust me, I _really_ don’t want to be here.The only problem is these four lugheads think it's a great idea to go running off in the middle of the night to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous. Since they won’t listen to me, I had no choice but to come along.” She grunted, staring daggers at Draco who was still held at wandpoint. He threw a sheepish smile in her direction.

 

Blaise held up his large hands in defense, trying to ease the tension that Pansy did nothing to help alleviate. “We are just here to help. Taking on some of Britain's most powerful wizards is not an easy task. Draco called, and so we came.”

 

Hermione wasn’t really convinced.“Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.”

 

She scrutinized him, looking into honey-coloured eyes that managed to shine brilliantly despite the dimness of the light. She could detect no malice in those irises, but Slytherins were crafty folk, she wouldn’t trust him just yet.

 

“Why help me?” Hermione inquired stiffly, her shoulders squared and stance defensive.

 

Pansy rolled her eyes, and marched closer into the light. “Look, I’d love to sit and chat with you Granger, Merlin knows I can talk--”

 

“Ain’t that the truth.” Theo chimed in, and Pansy whacked him on the head.

 

She turned back towards Hermione. “But it’s late, and cold, and there are several wizards and witches in there that could kill us all in seconds if we don’t get moving. So, if you want to hash out the details or throw us to Azkaban, I strongly recommend we save it for later.”

 

Hermione was stunned for a moment, and she found she was unable to argue with Pansy for the time being. Draco had mentioned that he would be getting them help, but having former Death Eater children on her team still rubbed her the wrong way.

 

She lowered her wand away from Draco’s chest and nodded lightly. And without further interruption, twisted the handle of the door.

 

_Creeeeeakkkk._

The hinges whined against the force of her hand, it sounded like a symphony of trapped souls crying out for help. It put her on edge.

 

Her shoes creaked against the old dark wood floors, the soft leather heels doing little to muffle the sounds. She never realized how ancient the Burrow actually was, its weathered body protesting against the weight of six new people entering its upset bowels.

 

She scanned the area with cautious eyes, wand secured tightly between her fingers and her shoulders squared in a defensive stance. She spared a glance over her shoulder and found the others in a similar state. She was surprised none of them had turned tail and ran; isn’t that what Slytherins are known for?

 

They eased their way into the kitchen, which was equally dark and void of life as the main foyer. All the plates had been left scattered on the table, food cold and rotting with abandonment, the chairs were all untucked and some even flipped over, and pieces of glass were scattered on the ground, their contents long dried up. It was like the scene out of a mystery novel, each bit of imagery painted in painful detail by the author so that the art director could recreate it for its inevitable adaptation for the big screen. It was a life interrupted, and it scared her more than any Death Eater ever had. They had fought back. Whoever or whatever had bewitched them did not find docile or complacent prey they could easily overpower. They probably emerged with a few marks of their own. But the fact of the matter was that they _were_ overpowered, and it had happened just before she arrived for her Sunday brunch at the Burrow. In an instant, their freedom had been stolen from them, the same one that eluded them for seven years of their lives; some longer still. She felt her heart break just a little more.

 

She picked up a piece of ceramic, recognizing it as once belonging to Mrs. Weasley’s favourite tea pot with the little sunflower painted on it. Her lip quivered, tears haphazardly running down her cheeks in waves that she could not stop.

 

The Slytherins said nothing, silently watching the scene from a few feet away. Draco could see the clear distress that had washed over her, despite not looking at her face. He did not want to be in her shoes.

 

He had a sudden urge to do something. It was a strange, unfamiliar impulse that he tried to ignore. What should he do? Comfort her? The woman was clearly devastated and feeling so helplessly alone, the least he could do was...what? He wasn’t sure. He had never been good with emotional situations,  he did not understand the proper social procedures one had to partake in.

 

Fuck. He was an idiot.

 

Clenching his fists around his wand, he stepped nervously towards the war heroine who was still trying to keep it together despite the pain she was feeling. Merlin she was strong.

 

He outstretched his hand, wanting to place it on her shoulder, as a small act of comfort that probably didn’t mean much coming from him, but it was the least he could do.

 

She was trembling, her shoulders tense and shaking with the effort of holding her frame up. His hand was hovering just above her right shoulder---

 

“Uh, everyone? I hate to break the silence, but you all might want to have a look at this.” Theo swallowed, his voice hoarse and tinged with fear.

 

Hermione whipped around and quickly rushed to where Theo was pointing. They all huddled around the dark spot, unable to make out the shape they were seeing.

 

“Lumos.” Blaise whispered.

 

Pansy gasped, her hands covering her mouth to muffle the sound. There, seeping out from under the doorway of the water closet was a large, red puddle.

  
Blood. And a significant amount of it.


	6. Imbroglio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Wow, what a week it has been! I know I am a little late but this is the first chapter I have worked on that hadn't been completed before I first started uploading. It's currently 2:00 AM in Toronto and I have to be up in four hours, but it's done! Updates will most likely come a lot slower now, since the semester is starting to pick up and deadlines draw nearer, so don't expect one every week now unfortunately. If you'd like updates I do have a tumblr blog that you can follow me on for any info or questions you might have. 
> 
> http://fablewhiteauthor.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks guys! Let me know what you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im·bro·glio
> 
> noun
> 
> an altercation or a complicated situation.

 

 

Draco remembers the first time he saw someone die. He had been so young, barely a decade old and still wet behind his ears. Father had told him not to follow him into Knockturn Alley. He explicitly stated that Draco was to wait by  _ Flourish and Blotts  _ until his father returned from conducting “business”, as he would call it.

 

But Draco was a stubborn child, unyielding like the Black bloodline that flowed in his veins. His mother never listened, so why should he?

 

He had waited a full minute for his father to leave, his pale blonde mane just visible in the distance. Draco followed him with cautious steps, a rush of adrenaline surging through him at the rebelliousness of it all. It was exciting to not do what one was told, it made him feel independent, older, like his father.

 

The shift in atmosphere the instant he entered the alley was immediately noticed by the young boy, a cold unease settling in the pit of his stomach and building a stifling pressure in his core. He shivered, the grey bricks flanking him appeared like the inside of a creature’s throat, and he was walking straight into its beastly maw. He was tempted to turn back, the warmth and sunlight of Diagon Alley almost serenading him to return, but he pressed on. He wanted to know what his dad really did during his “business meetings”; He hoped it wasn’t something boring.

 

Dirty peasants lined the walls, pressed against each other so closely it was hard to make out individual figures from the crowds. Many of them remained still as stone, decorum for this horrid mausoleum, and Draco briefly wondered if they would ever move. Black beady eyes were trained on his small form, studying him with the utmost intrigue and perverse satisfaction. They growled, they sneered, they smirked, and all too soon the boy realized he had lost sight of his father.

 

The alley split into two, each path dark and covered in grime and Merlin knows what else. He was suddenly terrified, the labyrinth of this hellhole proving to be far worse than he initially thought it would be. Perhaps he should turn back---

 

“NOOOOOO!”

A bloodcurdling scream cut through the dull drone of the gorgonite locals. His small legs carried him towards the sound immediately, despite every inherent instinct begging him not to.

 

It was down the right lane, the screams turned to devastated sobs and he was baffled to find no one else seemed to be doing anything about it.

 

He turned the corner and stopped cold in his tracks.

 

Their was a body on the cobblestone ground. A woman was kneeling over a young man, no more than twenty, whose strange amber eyes looked up towards the sky. His head was positioned weirdly, and Draco saw the red, rich blood spill from inside his skull. It made little rivulets between the cracks in the cobblestone, fanning out till it stained the woman’s rags though she didn’t seem to notice. She just held him close, cradling him like a newborn babe--like his mother often did--while no one moved to help her. 

 

The light, he saw it. The last bit of light leave the young man’s eyes, the amber turning a hardened opaque shade. The expression it left behind was a haunting, tortured one. It made Draco’s blood run cold.

 

He ran. His little legs tripping over the crooked, crossed ones of sitting fiends. He ran past the dull grey walls, past the cursing men, the sneers, the dirty cloaks and stone statues, back to the safety of his bubble, his precious  _ Flourish and Blotts. _

 

He would  _ never  _ disobey his father again. 

  
  


He almost thought he would experience that horror on another occasion, a few years ago on the drawing room floor of his home. He wasn’t sure if he could live with his sanity in tact had that been the case.

 

“Alohomora!” Hermione suddenly called out, very much alive and very much in a panic.

 

She was in warrior mode, he could tell. It amazed him that she could switch off all her fears and inhibitions when the situation called for it. He wasn’t sure if she would have made it this far had she not possessed this particular skill.

 

“We'll cover you.” Pansy informed her, Blaise, Theo and Greg flanking either side of the door. Draco remained behind her, wand poised and in position for an attack.

 

She nodded, fingers shakily gripping the door handle and her wand. She pulls the door open slowly, the pool of blood spreading with the action.

 

She peers down at the ground, to the source of all the red, and she gasps.

 

“Oh Merlin....”

 

They find Angelina. Her long black hair is covering her face and soaking in the blood from a nasty head wound. She is laying on her side, arms spread out in front of her and supporting her neck. 

 

Greg looks like he is going to be sick, swaying on his feet and skin turning white. Pansy however, immediately spurs into action.

 

“I am going to check her for vitals.”

 

Theo makes an exasperated sound. “Really Pans? She’s dead! Isn’t that obvious by all the goddamned blood?” Draco flinches at his words, feeling the oncoming traces of childhood trauma crawl its way up his nervous system. 

 

She glares at him, and does it anyways. “Head wounds tend to bleed more than others simply because there are a lot of blood vessels near the head.” She explains.

 

Hermione is astonished by the sight, seeing Pansy react immediately to the situation whilst she remained frozen and dumb was well...quite the role reversal.

 

She places two fingers on Angelina’s neck after lifting her chin carefully, not wanting to disturb her position too much in case her spine or neck was broken. Her eyes widen when she feels the faint pumping of a heart. She then proceeds to hover her ear over Angelina’s mouth and after a moment, she can feel the tickle of breath.

 

“Her vitals are positive. She’s alive.”Pansy informs them, immediately brandishing her wand. Hermione lets out a breath of relief, and so did the other Slytherins around her. 

 

“Did you hear that Greg? No need to pass out.” Theo teased.

 

Greg frowned, still refusing to come back to the water closet, instead he remained facing entirely in the opposite direction.

 

“That is still a lot of blood! You know how I get---” He is cut off by an ominous sight, his eyes widen exponentially. “--Get down!” Greg yelled, throwing himself to the floor as a flash of light zipped past his head and into the nearby wall.

 

Hermione, Draco, Blaise and Theo launch themselves sideways, a spray of drywall raining down on their backs. Bewildered, the others turned to face the direction of the spell after just narrowly dodging it thanks to Greg’s warning.

 

“They’re here.” Blaise narrowed his eyes, his wand poised in front of him in the perfect offensive stance. Draco growled, scanning the darkness to find the bastard who nearly decapitated him. He bet it was Weaselbee. 

 

There was a flurry of movement as spell after spell was cast and each time the group managed to somehow evade. Theo and Blaise aimed their wands blindly at the dark corridor when the spells ceased for a moment, hoping they hit something. 

“Expelliarmus!” A voice roared from the shadows. Theo’s wand flew out of his hands, landing a few feet away under the dining table.

 

Their was silence, save for the sound of shoes--more than one pair--entering the dining room. Ron Weasley, followed closely by Ginny and Harry Potter emerged into the light, the moon illuminating their faces. Hermione felt herself back away involuntarily, shaken by the familiar visages in front of her that somehow seemed so different; so perversely corrupted.

 

Harry quirked his head to the side in curiosity, studying the people in front him with intrigue that quickly transformed into disgust when he realized who they were.

 

“Oh my. What do we have here?” He sneered. He looked at Hermione with his black eyes and then let out an incredulous laugh. It sounded out of place. “Are you _ truly so desperate _ ? I never thought it possible for you to be so stupid Hermione, but I guess we  _ all  _ make mistakes.” His tone was deceptively sweet, and it made her shiver involuntarily. 

 

Ron was seething behind him, his growls made Lupin’s sound tame in comparison. She could picture foam spurting from his mouth like a deranged, unhinged animal. 

 

“Death Eater scum. None of you deserve to be alive!” Ginny exclaimed, her fiery hair seemed to come alive with her fury. 

 

Harry narrowed his eyes cruelly, humming in approval. “Yes. Perhaps we should remedy that.”  The Chosen One raised his wand, aiming it straight at Draco, his lips curling around a spell Hermione never thought she’d hear him say.

 

But the words became choked by the sudden force that launched Harry backwards into the corridor he entered from. Pansy had emerged from where she had remained hidden behind Draco, her wand sticking out between his ankles. Ginny and Ron surged into action, sending curses and hexes towards them in a rage unmatched by even the nastiest of dragons. The group blocked the attacks, shielding Theo as he dove for his wand under the table. Once he retrieved it, he knocked the table onto its side, gesturing frantically for the rest to join him. Pansy reluctantly left Angelina’s side, but she wouldn’t be much use to her dead. 

 

They had only a moment to converse freely, and they needed to think of something quick, otherwise they would never see the light of the next morning. 

 

Greg was the first to speak. “Don’t worry guys, I can knock them down.” He assured them, cracking his knuckles as he prepared to rush head-first at the still angry wizards, their spells burning into the wood of their weak barrier. 

 

Blaise immediately pulled Greg down by his sleeve. “Are you mad?! The minute you go out there, they’ll blow you to smithereens!” Blaise protested with a snarl.

 

Hermione however, got an idea.

 

“No, that could still work, we just have to do it carefully, plan a sneak attack.”

 

Draco’s eyes widened as he caught on to her train of thought. “Yes, exactly! You’re brilliant, Granger.”

 

Blaise, Theo. Pansy and Greg looked between the two in confusion. What the hell had just happened?

 

Hermione turned sharply to the rest. “Pansy, Blaise and Theo will take turns distracting them with spells, whilst the others cover, while Draco and I will cast a disillusionment charm on Greg so he can get behind them for a takedown.” She explained while Draco nodded in agreement.

 

Theo seemed less than pleased. “You want us to what?! Expose ourselves in the open for an attack that can kill us? !” He exclaimed in a panicked tone.

 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Well, we can’t bloody stay here can we?” And as if to illustrate his point a huge chunk of the hardy table splintered into tiny pieces as Ron and Ginny’s spells became more aggressive. 

 

“Point taken.” Theo nodded, getting his wand ready to fend off the two redheads. 

 

Hermione looked at Greg. “Do you think you can take them both down at once?” She questioned, for their plan hinged on that being the case.

 

Greg chuckled, as if the answer was obvious. “Darling, I wrestle trolls for sport, these two are nothing.” He assured her with pride.

 

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but didn’t question him further on his peculiar hobby. They hadn’t the time. 

 

“...Alright then. Everyone ready?” 

 

The “distraction” team nodded, bracing themselves against the force of spells pushing the table. 

 

“Disarm spells only.” She reminded them, much to the chagrin of the group. “Duh. What kind of spells do you think we were going to cast?” Pansy inquired, raising a plucked eyebrow.

 

Hermione didn’t respond, thrown off guard by her remark. Why did she tell them that? Shaking her head, she turned to Draco, who was staring at her intently. “You ready?”

 

He smirked, and pointed his wand at Greg who was rolling the joints in his neck. Hermione waited till there was a break in the onslaught of spells before yelling, “Now!”

 

The three moved in perfect harmony, throwing disarming spells that forced Ginny and Ron to defend instead of fight. The Gryffindor stared in awe at how they communicated so well without speaking, as if they were able to anticipate each other's next move. This was something she had found she could achieve on certain occasions with Ron and Harry. 

 

Hermione and Draco combined their magic to cast a disillusionment spell on Greg, his body fading until only a hardly noticeable shimmer was the only indication that he was there. 

 

“It will only remain for a short period of time, so we will have to re-cast it when it starts to dissipate.” Hermione told the blonde, as they watched Greg sneak out from behind the table. He was moving from the left side, Ron and Ginny were standing directly in front of the table and he had a clear path to take them down. She just hoped that neither of the Weasleys would notice him.  

 

Ron and Ginny grew more agitated with each passing second, their flurried movements becoming aggressive as they bore down on the Slytherins.

 

“We can’t...hold them off much longer!” Blaise grunted, dodging spells this way and that. One spell hit the window behind him, sending glass shards flying all over the place, some even sliced across their cheeks like tiny knives.

 

Hermione noticed the charm beginning to waver and she quickly re-cast the spell from where she was hiding behind the table, grateful for its long length. He was nearly there, soon he would be close enough to knock them down.

 

Ron let out a maniacal laugh, his stream of spells never relenting once, as if his endurance was infinite. “Come out come out wherever you are Hermione, you coward! Not so brave now are you?” He taunted, eyes scanning for any sign of her.

 

Draco growled, sick of the redhead’s antics even if he was bewitched. Suddenly, the two Weasleys changed course, moving towards the left side of the room, the side that Greg was currently situated in. This did not bode well for them if they managed to find him, he could be seriously injured...or worse. 

 

“Ah ha! Some of you must be hiding then! Oh look at our little Gryffindor princess, up to her old tricks again,” Ginny smirked cruelly. “I am afraid it won’t be enough this time.” She looked towards the shimmer of the the disillusionment charm that outlined Greg, though it was unclear if she had noticed him yet.

 

_ Come one Draco,Think!  _ The blonde thought to himself in a panic. He looked around frantically and spotted some abandoned goblets that had fallen off the knocked over table. He suddenly had an idea, one that he knew he would enjoy.

 

To everyone’s horror,  Ron and Ginny  turned their wands on a very still Greg a few feet away from them. But just then, two goblets smashed into the backs of their heads, knocking them out of their concentration. 

 

“Take that, Weasels!” Draco taunted, already lining up another shot with more utensils he found lying around. Hermione released a sigh in relief.

 

The pair turned towards the blonde, snarling, and headed towards the table with fury visible in their forms.

 

“You ferret! How dare you strike us!” Ron shrieked, readying his wand for a curse.

 

Draco only smiled. “Sorry, Weaselbee, but this is gonna hurt.”

 

Before Ron or Ginny could react, they were tumbling towards the right side of the room, the strength of a rhinoceros plowing into their side as Greg charged at them the instant their guard lowered.

 

Wood and glass smashed into debris on Molly’s aged hardwood, adding more scratches to the ruined pine. Ron and Ginny ceased their onslaught of spells, knocked unconscious as they were flung into the opposing wall. 

 

Hermione gasped, sliding out from under the table and ran over to their bodies that were positioned oddly, with Ginny’s pressed up closely against Ron’s back. The old Draco slithered out of his shell for a moment, wishing he had a camera to capture this perfect sight that would be blackmail material for years, but then he disappeared to the shadows of Draco’s soul.

 

For a moment Hermione feared the worst, but as she moved closer she could see the rise and fall of their shoulders where they lay on their sides. There was no blood or bruising that was obvious enough for her to see, maybe if she turned them over---

 

“Are you out of your mind? What the hell do you think you are doing?!” Draco yelled, yanking her hand away from where it had been moving to touch Ron’s hair. Hermione growled, eyes narrowing at the tall blonde in front of her. “They’re my friends! I have to see if they are all right!” She retorted, pulling her hand free from his grasp.

 

The other Slytherins in the room watched on with interest, albeit with a gnawing fear in the back of their minds. There are still several Weasleys roaming the house after all. They needed to keep quiet. 

Draco sneered at the two redheads on the floor.“I don’t know what they are, but right now they are definitely not your friends.”

 

“They’ve been _ bewitched _ , they didn’t  _ choose _ to attack me or any of us of their own free will!” 

 

“I know that! But they are dangerous! You could wake them up and get one of us killed! Do you ever think about the consequences of your actions ever?! Or is it impossible for you to consider those around you?!” Draco’s eyes took on a crazed glint, they were searing into her soul as if branding her with one immensely strong emotion she could not decipher.

 

She wanted to laugh at him for the irony of his words.  _ Really?  _ Had the last decade not occurred, then? All those hurled comments and  vile hexes had been illusions she had conjured up in her vulnerable brain? Bullshit. 

She had the cruel remark readied on her tongue, she could just spit it out right onto his Grecian nose and watch that glint fade and those lips pull down at the corners, perhaps even witness the exact moment realization dawned on him that he was being hypocritical (a slim chance, but still it was possible).

 

No.

 

Something was different about his tone that made her take a step back and observe herself from a different angle. 

 

She, she was not a hypocrite, right? She wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black. She was not cruel like he had been, she didn’t take pleasure in making people feel small, her parents never raised her that way.

 

But why did she feel guilty all of the sudden? 

 

There was no time to examine this unexpected change in her further, so she filed it away for further musing at a later date. Truthfully--and she hated to admit it---he had a point. She shouldn’t have ran over to them, it could have ended in disaster.

 

She stared down at her comfy sneakers, avoiding his gaze. “I just...wanted to see if they were all right.” She admitted.

 

Draco’s look softened, before he casted a binding spell on the two people unconscious below.

 

Hermione fought back the urge to cry at the sight, not wanting to see her friends harmed in any way. They would have to transport them somewhere safe and secure.

 

Blaise popped back into the room from where he had apparently left to go check on Harry who still remained in the hall. “He’s out like a light. I put a binding spell on him just in case.” He assured them.

 

Greg grabbed his arm, wincing slightly. “They were a bit sturdier then I thought they’d be.” He admitted with a grunt.

 

Theo shook his head. “Honestly man, you couldn’t cast a spell instead? Who said you had to physically throw yourself at them like a goddamned battering ram?”

 

Greg shrugged and Pansy let out a loud sigh, looking around herself at the disaster they had created in the Weasley dining room.

 

“Well, what a right mess we’ve made of all of this. If I liked the Weasleys I might actually feel bad.”

 

“There is still others, right? Why haven’t we found them? They should have come running at the first sign of trouble.” Blaise said with a furrow in his brow.

 

Hermione grew concerned, her hand coming up to her chin as she thought. “We’ll go check out the rest of the house, Pansy you stay here with Angelina and see what you can do about that head wound.” She decided, already making her way to the hallway.

 

Pansy nodded, and set to work straight away while the boys followed her, reluctance in their eyes, though Theo voiced his clearly. “We don’t get a say in this?” he argued, standing at the edge of the hallway.

 

Hermione turned back to look at him. “ Oh, you do. If you can’t handle it, then that’s fine with me, I am sure we’ll manage.” 

 

Theo gulped, but steeled himself for something he would surely regret.  _ No one  _ called his manhood into question, he’d show her. He marched in front of Hermione, leading the charge into the upper floors of the house.

 

Draco shot Hermione a look, impressed. She gave him a smirk, before quickly falling suit behind Theo, and damn, Draco had to admit that was kind of attractive. Perhaps they could make a Slytherin of her yet, she surely had a silvery tongue. 

 

Pansy and Blaise noticed his odd musing and threw him a look, that Draco shook off with annoyance.

 

Hermione tried not to look down at Harry as she passed his slumped over figure in the hallway. His eyes were shut, glasses askew on his cheeks and limbs tied in a thick twist of bindings that were Blaise’s doing. She hated this. Hated that she had to walk over him like a nameless corpse on a battlefield. It reminded her so much of that time, that war that every single person in this house had lived and grieved through. It was unfair, but she had to keep moving forward, she wasn’t allowed to stop.

  
  


They made it to the second floor of the house, but after checking all the rooms on that floor, there was no sign of life, just the eerie quiet that befell a home when its inhabitants were gone. 

 

“What are the chances of them being here, Hermione?” Blaise asked, his hushed tone barely echoing off the walls.

 

“I don’t know, but we have to check.” She was determined to find them, lest they become tied up in something they had no control over.

 

They continued their ascent on the long spiraled staircase, the shape mirroring the state of her life at the moment, an endless coil of events and insane occurrences that unravelled from what once was a tightly wound tapestry that for a while she thought was invulnerable. Not fire nor dagger could tear it apart. It was this ignorant bliss that drove all of them straight into the lair of Lady Fate, her spindly fingers squeezing around their throats till they danced to her awful tune. 

 

It was on the fourth floor that a strange sinking feeling entered her gut. Something was amiss here. The door to the master bedroom--Arthur and Molly’s room--was locked shut. Not even Alohomora seemed to do the trick.

 

“Nothing a good ol’ fashioned kick can’t handle.” Greg stated, already readying himself to do just that.

 

Draco grabbed him by his shoulders, hauling him back. “Are you mad?! The door is at least four inches thick, you’ll break your damn foot and then Pans will be  _ really  _ pissed.”

Greg pouted, but complied, the thought of Pansy and her wrath tempering him.

 

Hermione suddenly had an idea. She pulled out her wand and aimed it at the door. 

“You guys might want to step back a bit.” She warned, thinking up the proper wand gestures in her head.

 

The four boys immediately moved away from the door, Theo’s hands moving like a protective barrier over his crotch region, with the others following suit. 

 

_ Sorry about your door Mrs. Weasley.  _ She apologized with a wince.

 

“Bombarda!” She yelled, the door shattering into hundreds of pieces as it flew clean of its hinges into the master bedroom.

 

Once the debris had fallen, the group stepped inside, but their was no signs of anyone having been there. The moonlight streaked through the large windows, dancing across the bed in pale patterns outlining her light blue bedspread. 

 

Malfoy eyed the space, curious as to why this room was important enough to be locked.\

 

Theo let out an exasperated laugh. “Well, this was pointless.” He remarked, as Blaise agreed. They were turning to leave when Draco stopped them. “Wait, I want to check something.”

 

The light in the room seemed off, as if it was distorted by something, the angles bending wrong. It was almost as if--

 

Draco took out his wand.  _ “Homenum Revelio” _

 

_ It was bending around something that wasn’t there. _

 

Five motionless bodies appeared as out of thin air in various areas of the room. Bill was lain out against the edge of the back wall, right below a family portrait, Percy was seated in Molly’s vanity chair, George was propped up against the foot of the bed and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were laying side by side in the bed itself.

 

It startled all of them, so much so that they jumped back at least a foot. Gasps could be heard from all around.

 

“Blimey.” Greg said in a shocked tone.

 

It was like a life-size doll house, each of the family members a play thing to be used whenever their owner liked. They were so motionless, as if their souls had been pulled out from their chests leaving only empty shells. It was almost too much for Hermione to handle. She locked the sorrow deep inside, instead opting for an inner strength she didn’t know she still possessed.

 

“We have to get them out of here.” She spoke, after what felt like an eternity.

 

“And bring them where?” Blaise questioned, once he too regained his composure.

 

She had thought about this, and there really was only one place. 

 

“Hogwarts.” 

  
  
  



End file.
